


A Week in Paris

by 2W_NikiAngel



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enjolras Has Feelings, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Beta Read, Romance, Sad Grantaire, Sharing a Bed, Slow Romance, smut in chapter 7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-02-24 20:21:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 48,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22463974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2W_NikiAngel/pseuds/2W_NikiAngel
Summary: Grantaire gave Montparnasse tickets for a week holiday in Paris as a present for his birthday. But before they could fly to France, they broke up, and Grantaire refuses, in his own words, go to the most romantic place on Earth alone. Enjolras enters the story.[Český originální text/Czech original]
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables), past - Grantaire/Montparnasse
Comments: 9
Kudos: 54





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Do you have a New Year's resolution? I do. I started this at the age of twelve, and since then, most resolutions have changed a lot. It has become more realistic. As the main point of 2020 I have written - To publish at least one fanfic every month. We have almost the end of January and I? Although I wrote the one E/R fanfic, I wasn't able to check it properly and translated it into English. So I panicked for a while before I realized I had chaptered fanfic that I hadn't published yet (maybe because I only wrote four chapters out of eight, but shhh!). So here we are!
> 
> I wish you a pleasant reading.

It was wonderful calm in Corinth today. Otherwise a crowded pub where there was no evening without some dancing drunk people on tables or strangers leaving together in hand in hand for a night full of new experiences; was today domain of small group of students. They came here every Wednesday. They always debated the current issues of life, thought about changes in world to enrich society, and there was always a strong scent of desire and militancy around them. Madame Houchelop claimed to several of her customers that she had once seen a glittering glow around their chest, which looked like knights’ armor.

However, even the Friends of ABC, seemed calm, their thoughts wandering somewhere in the distance. They alway met at least in number of fifteen boys, but today only four of them were sitting there. The aura of heroism vaporized around them, and for the first time since they went to Corinth, they looked like those whom they really were - students, just a young boys.

Enjolras sat alone, his elbows resting on the edge of the table, concentrating on the book he had been reading for a good hour now. Opposite him, the others sat under the open window. Jehan was sitting on the window sill smoking a third cigarette, Joly constantly scattering his hands and changing expressions from enthusiasm to indignation, the last at the table was Grantaire, who was speaking unusually quiet today, his eyes constantly twirling between his two close friends.

“You will regret not going,” Jehan said simply, blowing another puff of smoke into the air.

“But do you understand how embarrassing it will be?” Grantaire asked for the hundredth time today, and Joly rolled his eyes so hard that both boys believed they hear sound of wiping on their upper eyelids.

“And I'm telling you that's a terrible bullshit.” Joly laid his elbows on the table, reaching for Grantaire, who was sitting across him. He put his hand on his shoulder and added: “You will enjoy it, trust me!”

Grantaire just sighed. How could they both understand? Jehan may have been single for a year now, but his relationships were always passionate, full of love and desire, always holding hands and kissing each other at the least appropriate moments. He spoke about his partners as someone who deserved every piece of his heart. Joly, on the other hand, boasted a great three-year relationship with Musichetta and Bossuet - he had always talked about how he comes home from medical practice and both of them are already waiting for him with hot dinner, turned TV with some stupid movie, and energy for night fun.

Both of them were happy in their own way. And none of them had experienced such a rough breakup that had turned Grantaire's life inside out. 

Joly and Jehan looked at each other sadly. They loved their friend, they always tried to support him, and despite his occasional desire to be the center of attention, to drink to complete exhaustion and to babble beyond decency; they knew they had almost no power here. Grantaire had never been lucky with relationships. Since they had known him, and it might have been around five years, Grantaire had gone through several disappointments. They didn't even know about some, and they didn't even ask about them, when they saw the sad glare in his eyes. So when a black-haired, tattooed, smiling, and pretty handsome Montparnasse waited for Grantaire less than a year ago after one of regular meeting in Musain, no one expected to see him almost every week. During that time, he met everyone in the group, talked about a lot of unimportant things, because he had the same view of _their human community_ as his lover, and most of all he was never afraid to show Grantaire was his boyfriend. They held hands, kissed, handed over cigarettes, and occasionally took one dish half _as some fucking husbands_ , as Bahorel commented once with a smile. That's why everyone was surprised when Grantaire didn’t arrive once at the meeting, just apologizing that he _couldn't make_ _it today_ , and at the evening Joly send the group a message that Grantaire and Montparnasse broke up. Why - no one knew; under what circumstances - no one knew; and Grantaire had been silent about his personal affairs since then. His friends respected his silence, but in all of them, the worm of curiosity gnawed - what made this couple, perfect to the eye, broke up?

Joly suddenly slapped his hands on the table, making all the glasses jump. “Enjolras?” He turned to the blond, who glanced away from the book, blinking at the sign that he was listening. “Could you, _please_ , persuade this pessimist to fly to Paris?”

“First,” Grantaire began immediately without looking from Joly. “I'm a skeptic. And cynic. And maybe a little bit of nihilist. But I piss on that pessimist. And second—” He took a deep breath to gain enough courage. “—I don't think Enjolras would be interested in such stupid thing."

“What _stupid thing_?” Enjolras asked with curiosity and closed his book.

“Nothing,” Grantaire said, waving his hands. “Really, it’s an absolutely unnecessary discussion and we will just bore you. None of this two idiots can make me change my opinion.” Jehan laughed and Joly frowned and pursed his mouth.

“So that means I'm not idiot enough to convince you?” Grantaire looked at Enjolras, and now he noticed he was watching him all along. He hidden the book in the bag he had draped around his shoulders and was putting a folded black jacket on his hand.

“Certainly not,” Grantaire said seriously, looking rather at the wood of the table. “Just - nobody can convince me of something I don't believe in.”

“I already know that about you,” Enjolras said calmly and went to his friends' table. “What can I help with? I have heard something about Paris, I'm quite interested. ”

Joly glanced at Grantaire - who hadn’t taken his eyes off the table and started playing with coaster under his glass - and shaked his head. “Our awesome _friend_ here—” He pointed to Grantaire, who finally looked at him. “—He has bought a ticket for a week in Paris. And he doesn’t want to go, because, I quote, _it’s emberrasing to fly to the most romantic place on Earth all by myself, I will look like a loser and I will probably get urge to drink myself to death._ ”

“I didn’t say anything about drinking,” Grantaire protested and Joly rolled his eyes.

“That’s the only reason, you don’t want to go?” Grantaire looked at Enjolras, who looked at him with interest.

“Well, not the only one, I guest, but mostly… it’s the main one.”

“Doesn't that seem like a small reason to forfeit money for a flight that's already paid?”

“That’s exactly what I told him!” Jehan said happy and lit another cigarette. He signaled to the waitress that he would have another black coffee and immediately turned back to Enjolras. “But the important information Joly might not want to mention, to don’t hurt Grantaire, is that the trip was for him and Montparnasse.” Enjolras looked at Grantaire who was fascinated by his beer and looked like he wanted to run away. “Grantaire gave it to him as a surprise for Christmas—”

“—Birthday, he have them at the end of December—”

“—and, well, no one could assumed that they would break up.” Grantaire glanced at Jehan and took one of his hand-rolled cigarette. He quickly put it in his mouth, lit it and with exhale of little smoke, he leaned his elbows on the table and looked at Enjolras. “I just don’t want to be somewhere both of us where supposed to be.”

“I understand,” Enjolras said quickly and Jehan just smiled little. Enjolras wasn’t the best person for understanding human emotions and all of them never saw him having more intimate relationship with anyone than his work; but he, at least, _tried_. “But as I said, it would be a shame.” Enjolras took chair from the next table and sat down next to Grantaire. “But won’t you be sorry to stay here with us?”

Grantaire frowned. “Why should I be sorry?”

“All of us have exams right now. We sleep, are in school or home buried under all the books. Nobody have time for meetings, nor sitting in cafés or clubbing, we can’t even reach each other online. This will be for another month before our exams end.”

“Two months,” Joly sighed, leaned his head back. “They prolonged my surgical practice in hospital.” Jehan just patted his shoulders.

“Wouldn’t think about what it could be if you rest in Paris after all?”

Grantaire opened his mouth. He wanted to say something, but he realized he didn’t really know what. He didn’t think about it like that. It was true that in the last two months he had seen all is friends sporadically. Bahorel stopped coming to boxing lectures because of new job he found. Feuilly was normally pretty busy, but during the exams period, he always disapeared and no one knew anything about him. Courfeyrac was constantly sending heartbreaking songs to his own blog and writing about how he can’t remember anything for another test, but he wasn't able to answer his friends even on the sms. Even in the city they met Marius’s nose buried in a book. The others knew about Combeferre only because he left behind the used bowls with cornflakes. Although at least the four of them met today, it was actually a rarity. Jehan appeared in Corinth or Musain once a week, always on a different day and at another hour, depending on his passing exams. Joly usually ran home after his practice in the hospital and was unable to make more contact that with his partners. Even Enjolras normally sat on the campus and sipped coffee at a coffee shop where he was learning the last paragraphs of the newly issued laws. Grantaire always felt a little alone during this period. His friends were pursuing their future goals, and in the meantime he had time to think about his own. And that was never a good idea.

“And Paris is beautiful city.” Enjolras’ voice made Grantaire return to reality. “I believe many of us would exchange it with you right away.” Before Grantaire could respond and say he would give them the tickets, Enjolras continued, “But no one can. You can. I heard that you already finish all your exams.” Grantaire just nodded his head. He himself was surprised at how easily he crawled through his studies. He always thought he would be one of those students fired after the first semester, but he held on. And he was even praised several times by the whole campus. He didn't like to brag about his achievements, but he was actually glad he'd never be as stressed as his friends. “Go then. We’ll all envy you.”

“You can spam us with photos again!” Joly laughed as he remembered how Grantaire could fill their entire conversation with thirty photos of the same flower that inspired him to paint a picture in the same colors.

“Think about all the stories you can tell after.” Jehan joined him. Grantaire liked talking about everything that seemed interesting and fun to him.

“I heard somewhere that French women are _something_ ,” Joly said, raising an eyebrow.

“Same with French men,” Jehan laughed this time, tossing the butt of cigarette into the ashtray on table.

“I don’t want t—“

“Do you have someone who will take you?”

Grantaire looked at Enjolras and blinked. “Come again?”

“Do you have someone who will take you? To airport, I think,” Enjolras added to his question.

“But I don’t—“

“You will go,” Joly said firmly. “Grantaire, it’s stupid not to go.”

“Show him that you can be without him,” Jehan said and saw Grantaire shiver. “Maybe you think it’s too soon, but believe mě – the sooner you let him know, you’re fine without him, the sooner you will break free and feel better.”

“I don’t need to—“

“Take some time for yourself. Enjoy it. You need it, don’t you?”

Grantaire paused for a moment. He looked at his friends, who were smiling at him. Everyone wanted the best from him, just like always. He just sighed, quickly drank his beer, got up from the table, and looked at all three of his friends. “You're terribly annoying, I don't have the power to talk to you anymore and I hate you all,” he said, pointing a finger at each of them. “I'll think about it,” he said finally, putting his backpack on his back. “But I don't promise anything.”

Joly smiled at him, Jehan merely nodded and Enjolras pulled book from his bag again. Grantaire turned away quickly, wanted to be home as soon as possible. He just heard Jehan’s mocking: “ _If I knew it was enough to involve Enjolras in the discussion, I would have done it a long ago.”_ Grantaire squeezed his teeth hard and went faster.

Grantaire couldn’t slept that night. When he got home he went to bed immediately. He had no energy to paint or get drunk. When the clock on his mobile showed him it was one morning, he just sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. It looked like the next insomnia night. He went into the kitchen, pulled a large porcelain bowl from one of the cabinets, and poured spicy chips into it. He sat on the couch and turned on the first channel on his TV, which he found amusing. He looked at the news with his skeptical gaze and refuted every important news, laughing every time someone repeated the word _horror_ or _disaster_. “If Enjolras were sitting here, the hair on his head would be getting up.” He had to laugh at the idea. 

Within half an hour, however, he became bored with news and turned off the television. He finished his chips a long time ago, his fingers clinking into an empty bowl. He didn't feel tired at all, but he didn't have enough energy to do anything. He sighed and pulled his cell phone out of his pants pocket. A message from Joly and Jehan greeted him on the display.

**[Jolllly:** _How did you finally decided? When are you flying, tomorrow?_ **]**

**[Prouvairismus** : _You’re already packed?_ **]**

“God,” Grantaire grumbled to himself. None of them seemed to leave it behind. He wanted to write back that he wasn't going anywhere and wasn't going to talk about this again, but his fingers didn't listen to him. He couldn't write that.

Grantaire swallowed dry. He knew very well why. Five years ago, before he met his friends a joined their revolutionary group, he went to art exchanging program in his first year of college. To Paris. The month became a half year. He lived in a room with four other students — born Parisian Odette, an Arabian Djawida with maternity in blood, an energetic Spaniard Neptune, and a quiet Japanese Yuki — and experienced his most beautiful memories there. Despite trying not to run to the past, he found himself remembering something from Paris several times a week. It wasn’t always some friend, hard study, or terrible travel that he hated so much. He remembered Paris as such, the feeling he had when he reached and looked around; the feeling as if his heart had finally found the missing piece of the puzzle that made him whole and happy. He thought that although Paris, like other cities, was contrasting and nothing was perfect there; for him - it was. He only saw the beautiful houses, tasted great food, met interesting people, loved their language as well as culture. He had to admit that the elegance and seductiveness of both French women and men had twisted his head. He fell in love with Paris, as never with any other person.

He knew he would return there someday. But he promised himself not to go alone again. He would no longer experience the cold nights without embracing his love, the empty arms of his bed, and would not drink all day. He will hug his love at sunrise, dine in expensive restaurants, stroll through the parks and make love with the sounds of cicadas and harmonica. That was his dream. But since he came back to his native country, everything seemed to be against him. The small salary of an artist was only enough for paying an already modest apartment, a few pieces of food a day, the supplements he needed to study. He couldn’t afford it anymore. He always blamed himself when he spent the last penny on alcohol that just burned him and brainwashed him for a few hours.

Until he met Montparnasse.

Grantaire shook his head quickly. He didn't want to think about him. Although it had been a month since they officially broke up, it was still painful to think of him. Knowing what they had experienced together, what they promised and what they were talking about; he felt like he had betrayed him. All the money he had spent on his dream holiday was not at all satisfying.

He began to wonder how many bottles of wine and heavy alcohol he could buy instead.

Grantaire laughed at himself. He knew he wasn't ready to go anywhere. Certainly not alone. He knew that if he returned to Paris, he would buy at least three bottles of wine each morning, drink it in a locked room with blinds closed, shower only in cold water to stay at least a little sober, and think of fictional stories that he would have to recite his friends and tell them how great a trip it was until the end of their lives.

He couldn't do it. For himself. It would destroy him.

He sighed for the last time and turned on his phone again. He already wanted to write to Jehan and Joly that he wasn't going anywhere, and any objection would cost them one pack of cigarettes; when his social network alerts started. He looked at his profile and found that he still couldn't delete Montparnasse from his close contacts.

He didn't know if he forgotten, didn't want to, or simply couldn't.

**[Flowerparnasse added a new photo on his profile with 11 tagged friends]**

They haven’t added anything to social networks since they broke up. Grantaire felt his fingers tremble. He had an incredible need for looking at the photo. “It's just a photo, R,” he whispered to himself. His silent monologue always gave him some courage. With a deep exhalation, he looked at Montparnasse's profile. He could look at the photo for less than five seconds as he jumped to his feet and shouted from his lungs: “That bastard!” He felt his cheeks burning, and his nostrils spread at the speed of his breath. “Bastard,” he whispered as he started tapping his foot on the floor, his heart pounding at enormous speed.

An hour ago, Montparnasse added a photo with his friends. Everyone laughed in the photo, holding beer glasses, and their partners sitting on their sides. Montparnasse wasn’t there alone. A young, perhaps not yet twenty-three-year-old boy, clung to his right side, with chestnut hair, large blue eyes, muscles looming from his blue short-sleeved shirt, and a lion tattoo on hand. Montparnasse wrapped his arms around his neck and clung to him as if they had known each other for several years. Grantaire knew all his friends. This wasn't his friend. This was his another _love interest_.

Grantaire stopped tapping his foot. “Wait a _fucking_ minute,” he said suddenly, quickly searching for a cell phone that he threw up in annoyance and rolled down on the sofa. He quickly examined the photo again, squinting his eyes for a moment, as if he hadn't seen or just believed what he was seeing. He opened his mouth as if someone had just told him a juicy gossip. “Is that _Louise_?”

Louise was Grantaire's friend. They met at dance classes. Although Grantaire was no longer dancing competitively, he liked to go to Latin American dance classes once a week. Two years ago, one of the dancers asked him if he could help his friend with steps for samba. Of course Grantaire said yes. And this is how he met Louise. He didn't get a lot of money for a few lessons, but he and Louis became friends and occasionally met in the studio for a few hours of rhythmic dance, which ended in a pub with a cold beer.

Six months ago, Grantaire introduced Louise to Montparnasse.

“Son of a bitch,” Grantaire said to himself. He began to shake his head. “Didn’t you say you absolutely don’t care about him? _I don’t mind if you spend time with him, I can’t be jealous of someone like him. Sure, just bring him to you party, I would like to see him again. No, Grantaire, he’s not my type, don’t worry. Yeah, let him sleep on your couch, we’ll have breakfast at morning together. Look, can I go with you to another lecture? I love seeing your ass swaying like that._ Yeah, sure, you freaking prick, you looked at him, right?!” Grantaire threw his cell phone on the sofa again. He began marching around the room. He didn’t know how to catch his breath again. His heart was beating so much, he could feel every beat. “Why I didn’t notices anything? It was so oblivious! How Louise kept asking about him. _You're happy? It's that your first serious relationship? And his too? How long have you known each other? And what Montparnasse likes in bed, you said?_ My freaking stupid mouth! I gave him instructions how to get him. I'm such an idiot!" He began to scratch his hair as always when he get angry or nervous. “I'm such an idiot...”

He looked around at his apartment. It seemed a little smaller again. Like it was suffocating him. In a moment, his throat was dry and tight. His eyes began to wanders across the room. His gaze stopped at the cabinet he had next to the cupboard. He hadn't opened it for a good two months. “Fuck it,” he whispered softly, opening the cabinet. He took red wine from it, which he opened quickly and drank heavily several times. “Ahh,” he groaned right away, taking a few deep breaths and pulling a glass out of the cupboard. He poured the rest of the bottle into it and began to stroll around the room. “What, what, what, Montparnasse, is that look pleasing to you? That I drank again? You son of a bitch!” He drank. “I should have known all this. Everything. Even the break up.” He drank. _“It wasn't even a good relationship, Grantaire, this was hardly a breakup. Just as if two friends who sometimes fucked said - Okay, see you tomorrow._ Idiot. Asshole.” He recharged the glass. Angrily he crossed over to the cabinet and opened another bottle. He filled the glass to the brim and just laughed. _“I'm not going to the cinema with you, science fiction is so stupid. Jesus, your friends are so annoying, how can you like them? What makes you enjoy the art again? It’s not a real work._ Shut up, you asshole.” Half the glass was gone. “Fuck,” he whispered to himself, striding around the room. He paused at her center and frowned. “That's how it always was.” He sipped a little and began to think. “ _I can’t. It’s not possible. I don’t want. I'm not going. I’m not doing this._ ” He shook his head. “Everything was always a _no_ . I should expect that I would be the next _no_ too.” He glanced at the crack on the wall he had never tried to repair, and instead drew around it a carbon pattern that mirrored Montparnasse's tattoo on his back. “Paris was the only thing you ever said _yes_ to.”

Suddenly his eyes lit up. He smiled broadly, then laughed almost hysterically into the silence of the room. “I got it,” he whispered. “Got it!” He exclaimed with enthusiasm and quickly went to his room. He opened the closet with clothes. An old, shabby black suitcase had been lying fallow at his bottom for several years. “Fuck it,” he whispered to himself, pulling the suitcase out of the closet. “I'll go even without you!” He threw the suitcase on the bed and started throwing all his clothes into it hysterically. Shirts, pants, socks, underwears. Somewhere out of one of the shelves he pulled out a red, checked shirt. “ _It doesn't suit you, I don't understand how your friends could praise that you look good in it._ Ha! So I'll take it and see how many women and men turn after me!” He tossed his shirt on the whole mountain of clothes and opened the closet to his right. There he kept all his tools for art. He carefully pulled out crayons, pencils, tempers, brushes, pens, and a few of his sketchbooks. He placed them beside the suitcase and looked proudly at the pile. He went to the living room to find his cell phone, whom had apologized several times for the rude conduct on his way to the bedroom, and pulled out his passport from the night table with two tickets tucked out. He put his passport on top of the pile and photographed the chaos. With a smile on his face, he sat on the edge of the bed and started writing.

**[GrandR added photo to newly created album “The Most Romantic City on Earth”]**

**[GrandR:** _Plan for the next week: Enjoy. Create. Look great._ **]**

“And you can fuck yourself,” Grantaire laughed as he uploaded the photo to his profile. He laughed, but he felt his joy bitter slowly in his mouth. His smile dwindled. Grantaire bit his lower lip, his heart calming. “What am I doing?” He whispered to himself, as if he hoped someone would answer him. He lowered his head. He was ashamed of his behavior. This is not done by an adult man, but by a teenage girl who has been rejected by her idol. Grantaire swallowed dry and looked at the pile of things he tossed there. He picked up his passport and opened it in a seated place. He picked up both tickets and looked at the engraved names of the reserved seats.

_Christiane Grantaire. Henri Montparnasse._

Tears began to burn in his eyes. “It shouldn’t be like that,” he whispered to himself. He bit his lip again, trying to chase away the tears that drifted to the surface. There were several tinkles before he could groan in pain. Someone sent messages to Grantaire. He rubbed his eyes quickly, blinking away the tears, and looked at his cell phone display.

[ **Jolllly:** _I envy you already! Take care of yourself, bro!_ **]**

**[Prouvairismus** : _Finally!! I already thought I and Joly didn't have power over you. Or perhaps Enjoras's magic? Hmm? :P Enjoy it. Let me know when you arrive safely in Paris, okay? I have a question - Could you take a picture of Victor Hugo's bed? Please!! This guy is my sweetheart. Please, please, will do everything for you after you return!_ **]**

**[TheEagle:** _Don’t plan anything stupid like plane crush, because I don’t want to search for new drinking buddy, okay? Have fun. :)_ **]**

**[FEYrac:** _Don’t forget use the most popular french phrases: „_ Voulez-vous coucher avec moi? _“!!! You’ll tell me if it works :D_ **]**

**[BahoreltheBeater** : _Don’t forget to pack condoms ;)_ **]**

Grantaire tried to smile at the messages. He wanted to be as happy as his friends. Instead, he was burdened with conscience. Suddenly he felt weak, small, and most of all - humiliated. He didn't even know if he's bothered by the whole situation or the fact that he drink again. He glanced at the glass he dropped on the nightstand and snorted. Almost six months… He was so close! He almost made it!

He knew that only one person could help him now. He quickly dialed his best friend's number and waited. He wrote him, certainly he’s not asleep now. “Please pick it up,” he whispered, shaking his foot impatiently. Once the one other side said _Yes?_ He started his monologue: “Joly, I'm sorry to call you in this hour, but I have to. I need to talk to someone. Right now. I don't really know if—”

„ _Grantaire?“_

Grantaire stopped talking and thought for a moment. He blinked a few times. “Joly?”

“ _Um, no, Grantaire. This is me. Enjolras._ ” He introduced himself as if they didn’t know each other. Grantaire thought for a moment before he slapped his forehead with his hand. Joly was his first emergence contact on his list, but Enjolras was right after him. He surely clicked on his number in panic.

“Shit, sorry, I… Jesus, Enjolras, I'm sorry, I am—”

 _“It's all right, Grantaire,”_ Enjolras whispered so softly that Grantaire felt as if he stroked him all over his body. _“Is something wrong?”_

Grantaire swallowed. “No, nothing, I'm sorry.”

“ _What I heard didn’t sounded like nothing_ .” There was a rustle on the other side. Enjolras seemed to be lying in bed. Grantaire tried not to think of Enjolras lying in bed, in satin linen, while he was wearing only his tank top and pajama pants. Or just those pants. But the rubber is definitely annoying, so maybe he only sleeps in his underwear. Wait, what if he sleeps _naked_?

“Oh my God."

“ _What?_ “

Grantaire wanted to slap himself. What _the fuck_ was he thinking about? “Sorry, Enjolras. I'm sure I woke you up. I really didn't want to.” He paused. “I panicked a little. You know. I'm packing.”

“ _So you finally decided to fly to Paris?”_

“Yeah, but I don't know… I don't know if it's a good idea.”

“ _Why not Grantaire? I think you made the right decision._ ”

“You’re still sleeping if you think someone like _me_ makes the right decision,” Grantaire laughed, and lay down on the bed. He didn’t care that he lay down on several pieces of his clothes.

“ _I’m not sleeping_ ," Enjolras said seriously. “ _Grantaire, I mean it, you made the right choice._ "

“Thanks,” Grantaire whispered. “But I'm not ... I'm not sure, okay?”

“ _Why?_ ”

“Because…” _I found our tickets. With our names. This was supposed to be_ our _trip. This was about_ us _. I don't have any of this anymore._ “... I'm scared of flying.” Lie.

“ _Oh_ .” Enjolras laughed softly. It was strange to hear Enjolras through the phone. Have the two ever called before? “ _That's why you called Joly?_ ”

“Yeah, yeah, you're right about that. Joly's afraid of flying, too.” Another lie. “He understand. You know. Information exchange. Fear. Or phobias. It doesn’t matter. You know that—"

" _You're babbling_ ," Enjolras interrupted. He could hear him yawning. “ _You do that when you're nervous._ ” Grantaire's heart leapt. He had no idea that Enjolras knew anything about him. “ _Flying isn't the reason you called Joly, is it?_ ” Grantaire wondered if he should tell the truth or think of another lie. “ _You don't want to talk to me about it?_ ”

Another pause. “Nothing happened. Really.”

“ _Okay._ ” Grantaire smiled sadly. Maybe somewhere in the corner of his heart he hoped Enjolras would know he was lying. But everyone knew that Enjolras never asked any of his friends about their personal life, he couldn't quite guess when they were lying or hiding something from him. Courfeyrac told everyone that it was his nature that he couldn't understand human feelings and relationships like the others and was confused about them. Grantaire, however, always thought he was simply not interested in his friend’s lives. 

Enjolras coughed. Grantaire could hear his bed creak. Grantaire had to begin to resist the idea of what caused the feathers to be ragged. He had to bite his lip in order not to make a comment. “ _What time is your plane flying?_ ”

“Um.” That question surprised him. “Well…” He glanced quickly at the tickets. “Nine in the morning.”

“It's two in the morning Grantaire. You should go to sleep, otherwise you will fall asleep.”

“Sure, _Dad_ ,” he whispered mockingly, and Enjolras chuckled on the other side. “Good night, _leader_.”

“ _Good night, Grantaire_.” Before Grantaire could say anything else, Enjolras hung up.

Grantaire looked at his mobile screen for a moment. He set his alarm clock at six in the morning, wondering if he would still bother Joly. He swallowed dry. “Just in a case…” He dialed Joly's number and waited a moment. With fifth clink, Joly’s sleepy voice asked _Grantaire, is something wrong?_ and Grantaire just whispered softly, brushing his hand through hair: “I drank.”

“ _Oh, ‘Taire…_ ”

“I know.”

“Shit!” That was Grantaire's first words after waking up. He should have known that the morning alarm wouldn't wake him. He needed to take a bath and pack. While searching for things, he realized that he would mainly need to wash and iron. What was lying on the pile was absolutely frightening. He decided none of this was worth anything in the end. He had less than twenty minutes to get to the bus stop and catch a bus that would take him to the airport in time to check in. He had no idea what he had packed with him, just hoped he hadn't forgotten anything important. He put on the holey jeans, he remembered in one piece, but he had already worn them like that; a gray sweater that was too big for him, with too long sleeves; he put a red knitted beanie on his head, hoping no one would see his greasy and untidy hair.

He rushed out of his apartment, locked, and stood on the sidewalk as he was surprised at the sight in front the door. “Enjolras?” He asked suddenly in surprise and a little louder than he had expected. A parked white car stood across from him, the driver's door was open, and Enjolras sat in it with a cell phone in his hand. As soon as he heard Grantaire's voice he turned it off and looked at his friend.

“Good morning,” he said with a small smile.

“Good morning,” Grantaire repeated. He felt a little stupid with his strange voice and feeling how his brow furrowed. “Why are you here?”

“I’m waiting for you.”

“For me?” Grantaire pointed at himself and looked around. They were the only ones on the street. It seemed that everyone wanted to enjoy their first day off on the weekend and get up around ten. Grantaire would like to join them. “Why?” He asked.

“I'll take you to the airport,” Enjolras said, blinking. He looked like he was talking about a pre-arranged thing. Grantaire was still in the same place, not even noticing that he had dropped the suitcase from his hand long ago and it was lying on the ground in the dust. “What if you picked up the suitcase, got in the car and we could go now?”

“What?” Grantaire asked, but he obeyed. He took the suitcase into his hand and walked over to the car where Enjolras was sitting. “Why are you here?”

Enjolras just sighed. He knew he wasn't the best in expressing his feelings. But he hoped all his friends knew how much he liked them and looked after them. Just because he can't hug and kiss them like Courfeyrac; to give them advice on life like Combeferre; or go to the pub with them at night, to talk about the troubles of life like Feuilly; it didn't make him an insensible creature who didn’t care about his friends. “When you called me yesterday, I thought it would be better if someone pick you up.”

“Do you think I am unable to get to the airport alone?” Grantaire asked, chuckling. He adjusted the beanie on his head and added dramatically, “Our dear leader, you may be surprised, but I can get from point A to point B. I found myself an apartment, I go to school by myself and, what to guest, I found myself even work. You may be surprised, but I’m wiping my ass alone for a long time already.” Enjolras wanted to say something, but Grantaire interupted him: “So thank you for coming, but I'm still kind of lost.”

“I was afraid you would have a hangover.”

“Oh," Grantaire said, leaning against the car. “That's what it is. You were afraid I would get so drunk that I wouldn't even get out of that apartment. Well, it's very generous of you to come to me from your heaven, to look at me, an ordinary mortal. But unfortunately, dear leader, I didn't choke on my own vomit and I'm still alive.” He threw his arms above him, and although he laughed broadly, Enjolras heard a great deal of sarcasm in his voice. He wasn't in the mood to explain how much he was wrong.

“You just missed the bus,” he said finally, looking back at the cell phone.

“Shit,” Grantaire demanded, looking at the back of the car. “So - ride?" He asked Enjolras, who looked at him again. He just nodded. Grantaire opened the back door, threw the suitcase on the seat and went to the passenger seat. He focused on Enjolras, who was looking for music to listen to on the road, and seriously asked: “On the scale _never_ to _always_ , how often does Bahorel ride with you?” Bahorel was known to be afraid of the car rides. He didn't like to sit by the front passenger because he could see the driver's speedometer, which made him nervous; he was sick when he sit behind the driver and had to swallow nausea pills before each ride. It was virtually impossible to drag him into the passenger seat. No one was surprised that he didn’t have a driver's license and preferred to use public transport. If Bahorel was willing to sit in the car repeatedly, it must have been a great driver.

“Once a week, always after the meeting, for boxing practice,” Enjolras said proudly, and Grantaire just whistled admiringly.

“Okay, I'll go with you,” he said finally, fastening his belt. Enjolras smiled at him for a second before turning music on his phone and starting the engine.

They hadn't spoken a word the whole ride. Neither seemed to require it. Enjolras concentrated on driving and music, while Grantaire tried to drive away the strange feeling in his stomach he always had as he approached a stressful situation. And to fly to Paris for a romantic week without, now a exboyfriend, who is already sending photos to social networks with his, most likely, present boyfriend? That was stressful.

In less than an hour, which fortunately seemed short to both, they were entering the main road to the airport. “Just throw me out in front of the entrance, you don't have to park for me,” Grantaire said, noticing the parking pricelist on the board. It was nice of Enjolras, and for him still misunderstood why, Just the fact, that he had taken him, he didn't wanted to pay for anything.

“It’s okay,” he said, driving his car to the main parking lot. It was empty, and it seemed they were the first to be there today. Enjolras turned off the engine and was already opening his door when Grantaire laughed. “Jesus, come on, you don't have to come in with me. I can do it! I just walk through the hall, get checked in, and get on the right plane. It shouldn't be so hard, it does a few dozen people a day, leader,” he laughed and got out of the car. “I promise not to let anyone attack me, stab me, rob me or rape me on my way in.” He closed the door behind him and took his suitcase from the back seat. “Thank you very much for taking me. That was nice. I'm not denying. But go home. I believe you certainly has plans. Other plans. Better plans.” Enjolras didn't even have a chance to react when Grantaire slammed the door shut, and despite the closed car he could hear him thanking him once more.

He walked less than five paces when he heard the car door open again. Grantaire stopped and sighed. He knew Enjolras thought he was only an alcoholic who kept shouting some stupid words into the air and couldn't talk seriously, perhaps saying too much sexual jokes and unable to forgive a little of the chauvinist attitude; but he's definitely not immature to take care of himself. His friend's behavior made him a little mad.

He turned around. “Enjolras, sorry, but don't behave — What _the fuck_ are you doing?” He asked in surprise when he noticed that Enjolras had closed the trunk of his car and slung a large, brown, canvas bag over his shoulder. It seemed to be filled with things to the brim.

Enjolras looked at him and locked the car with one click of a key. “I’m taking my things.” He checked the door to be locked and looked at the front window. Behind the windshield wipers, there was yellow paper informating about the reserved and paid weekly parking. “I don’t plan to be naked in Paris for whole week.” He looked at Grantaire. His eyes were wide and his mouth open. Enjolras smiled a little. “You said you didn't want to be alone in the most romantic place on earth. I was always interested in Paris and I wanted to go there once. But I wouldn't enjoy it alone. So I told myself, why not go with you?” Grantaire's eyes almost fell out of his sockets. “Canceling a booking when you have a good friend who makes a living as a hacker is not that difficult. I believe your ex-boyfriend will not change his mind and suddenly will not appear anywhere and go with us. And God, Grantaire, shut your mouth, or you will have flies in it,” Enjolras laughed softly at his expression, turned and walked toward the airport's main entrance.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized that I had forgotten to mention one essential thing - everyone in Les Ámis is French in this story or has French roots; but lives in London with their families. That's why Grantaire (currently with Enjolras) flies to Paris and doesn't just travel by car/train/whatever.  
> There are a few French phrases in this section. I never learned French, I started it actively a month and a half ago when I decided not to fly to Paris without any knowledge of their language. It's polite. Anyway, I hope they are spelled correctly, so far I'm not very sure about it. Translations of phrases can be found in the end notes.  
> Enjoy reading!

Grantaire had spent several nights drunk already \- he could wake up on the table, under the table, in a bed in strange room, often not remembering what he said or did. But this was the first time he felt so confused. Enjolras took his suitcase in the lobby, helped him with check in, bought coffee from the vending machine, and waited for the plane to arrive. Enjolras sat on a plastic chair in the lobby and pulled one thick book from his backpack. He ignored Grantaire perfectly. He himself was in trance. He suddenly woke up in the plane, a few minutes before the take-off. As soon as they sat in their seats, Grantaire found all his lost senses and cried out, “Are you fucking kidding me?!” Not even a nine-year-old little girl next to them opened her mouth wide with strange sound and a doll fell out of her hands. Her mother sat beside her, looking angrily at Grantaire.

“Don't yell, Grantaire,” Enjolras said, fastening his belt around his hips. “Still surprised?”

“Can't say how much,” Grantaire admitted. “Like, you just decided? Like, just like that?” Enjolras nodded. “But why? Not that I'm complaining, I'm actually glad I won't be alone. But I'm still surprised that someone like you want to be with someone like me—”

“Because you're my friend,” Enjolras said before Grantaire started his typical volley of words and humiliated himself in his speech. “I would do it for every friend.”

“A friend,” whispered Grantaire, already inhaling to ask him _when the two of them actually became friends,_ when his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He quickly pulled it out and looked at the display. New message. From Montparnasse. He wasn't even wondering if it was good to read it and quickly clicked at it with his fingers.

**[Flowerparnasse:** So you're really going? A little selfish, don't ya think? **]**

“You're the selfish one,” Grantaire snorted softly, taking a deep breath. He felt his heart pound again. His fingers began to tremble and he wanted to rise and leave.

“Is something wrong?” Enjolras asked with a slight concern in his voice. Grantaire looked at him, then back at the display and at him again.

“No,” he said, as convincingly as he could, and immediately looked away from the younger one.

“You're lying,” Enjolras said, reaching for his cell phone. Grantaire didn't even protest. Enjolras looked at the display, frowned a little, and looked back at Grantaire. “You both still write each other?”

“No. This is the first time he wrote me something since the breakup.”

“Then you won't spoil your trip,” Enjolras said firmly. Before Grantaire could protest, Enjolras turned off his phone and put it in his pocket. “Mobile phones must shut down in a while. Did that for you already. You should thank me.” Enjolras leaned his head against the backrest and closed his eyes. “I didn't sleep much. You should also sleep to be ready for Paris.”

Grantaire wanted to tell him something, but he had already noticed how the leader began to breathe gently. He fell asleep.

All the way Grantaire thought of the message his exboyfriend sent him. He was constantly tapping his foot or playing with his fingers. He thought about what he would like to say to him and found himself muttering under his breath a few times. Occasionally, some fellow travelers looked at him, but decided not to comment on his behavior.

When he looked at Enjolras, he envied him quietly. Their leader slept perfectly. He didn't wake thank to the screaming child, nor by the flushing toilet they had just behind their back, nor by the turbulence. He slept like dead. Which scared Grantaire at times and put his fingers under his nose to make sure he was breathing.

 _Because you're my friend_.

Grantaire had no idea what to think about it. 

They landed in less than four hours. Although Enjolras slept hard all the way, waking him up wasn't hard. It was enough that Grantaire touched his arm and Enjolras looked at him immediately. “We're in Paris,” Grantaire whispered gently, as if he was afraid Enjolras would be shocked to be in another location in Europe. But Enjolras just nodded, yawned, rubbed his eyelids with his palm. They left the plane and headed for check-in. They were fortunate that their luggage appeared on the belt first. Enjolras slipped the bag over his shoulder, and Grantaire immediately headed to the exit with his suitcase.

“Wait,” Enjolras stopped on his way, looking at the other passengers. “Shouldn't we wait for others?”

“Why should I wait for a bunch of strangers?” Grantaire asked in surprise. When he noticed a pensive look on Enjolras' face, he realized it. “Jesus!” He slapped his forehead dramatically and laughed. “I didn't buy a tour!” Enjolras frowned a little. “That means we will not follow a woman with an umbrella in her hand, we will not walk around in groups as monkeys, and we will not take mass photos, we will not sleep in a five-star hotel. No, you chose the wrong companion, leader,” Grantaire laughed, moving closer to the exit. “Can we?” 

“I guess?” Enjolras said, looking back at the group of passengers. He felt a little nervous. He knew Grantaire. That was probably the fault. He knew how irresponsible and impetuous he could be. Instead, he turned and followed Grantaire out. He didn't stop for a moment. He walked as if he knew where he was going and headed for a large bus that was slowly filling. “Shall we take a cab?” Enjolras asked, pointing to the empty cars around them.

“Do you want to bankrupt right away on first day?” Grantaire asked in surprise. “As if you didn't know it.” Enjolras wanted to say something, but Grantaire had already turned and walked into the bus together. “Damn, I forgot,” Grantaire whispered to himself, looking around. “We arrived at peak hours.”

“Paris is always in peak hours,” someone said behind them, and Grantaire just nodded.

“Yeah, it's just being forgotten quite quickly,” he replied, looking at the only front seat that was vacant. “Well, leader, please, your throne is ready for your _butt_.”

Enjolras just rolled his eyes. “Grantaire, shut up.” With that, he shove into Grantaire’s arms and he sit up with a loud thus. He squeaked in surprise and could only grab his suitcase before he almost ended up on the ground. Enjolras stood beside him, grabbed the bar above their head with his hand, and tossed his backpack into Grantaire's lap. “And sit.”

“Aye aye, sir,” Grantaire said mockingly. The driver closed the door and the bus slowly rode to the main road. Grantaire focused on Enjolras, who, despite the car jumping due to the broken road, didn’t move at all and looked out the window. “En—”

“Oh, did I heard well?” A couple of elderly ladies sat across them. Both of them squinted at the large paper map they had spread out in front of them. “Do you speak English?”

“Yes,” Grantaire said with a smile, Enjolras just looked at them.

“Could you help us where to get out?”

“But we—” Grantaire didn't let Enjolras finish, he leaned toward the two ladies and began to advise them gradually. Enjolras watched him all the time. He showed them something on the map, then began to laugh and ardently discuss something. Enjolras knew that Grantaire, by his nature, could make friends in a second. No one seemed to mind the smell of alcohol and tobacco.

“Ladies, I'm so sorry.” Grantaire returned to his place and began handing Enjolras his backpack. “But we need to go.”

“What a shame!” Said the one who had a staple with thrust in her hair. “It was pleasure to meet you, young man.”

“Same,” Grantaire said, almost in a seductive voice. “Maybe we'll meet again.” Both grandmothers giggled like teenage girls. Grantaire tried to ignore Enjolras's expression - he didn’t know whether to laugh or be slightly concerned about the situation. Instead, he decided not to comment and followed Grantaire off the bus.

As soon as they got out, Enjolras was immediately surrounded by the smell of just cooked lunch and blooming trees. People were all around them, talking loudly, laughing. The sun was hiding behind the clouds, but almost everyone wore sunglasses. Enjolras stepped close to the roadway, looking confused. Cars blew, drivers didn’t forgive to say a few swearing words.Chaos intertwined with the beauty of the city - historic buildings, flowers on small balconies, freshly painted houses in bright colors. “Leader.” Enjolras stopped looking around and looked at Grantaire, who managed to cross a busy street. “Come on, otherwise you’ll need to stand there for rest of your life.”

Enjolras tried not to show how nervous he was about walking on a street he didn't know. From a spacious street full of bars, restaurants and open balconies where someone smoked or discussed loudly; got into an empty, narrow alley. All the buildings in it were closed, and almost all of them were plastering. Enjolras felt his nervousness growing. Grantaire walked a few steps in front of him, dragging him into an even more quiet alley that was beginning to smell of rot and urine.

“Grantaire?” Grantaire didn't turn and ran to the end of the aisle.

“Here it is!” He opened his arms as if hoping that someone might hug him. Enjolras followed him quickly. The street opened again, filled with the sun. Unlike the stop, only a few people passed through here. “Sorry it was a shortcut,” Grantaire said immediately.

“Oh, okay.” Enjolras focused on the building they were standing at. “Drugstore?”

“Yeah,” Grantaire said proudly and walked in. He paused at the entrance to take a deep breath. “Oh, fresh vegetables!” Enjolras closed the door behind them. There was a young girl behind the counter, filing her nails and staring at the two newcomers without interest.

“Hello,” Enjolras said, but the girl just swapped the gum in her mouth from one side to the other. Enjolras tried again, but this time the girl rolled her eyes and continued her manicure. “Miss?”

“As if you didn't know,” Grantaire laughed and walked over to the counter. “ _Bonjour, Mademoiselle._ ” The girl looked at Grantaire and raised an eyebrow. “ _Je suis Grantaire, Valjean m'attend._ ” The girl shouted the name Grantaire said. A few seconds later a man in his fifties with white hair, wrinkles on his face, and sunken blue eyes appeared in doorway. He was tall, mighty, his muscles looming under his light shirt. He smiled and spread his hands as soon as he saw Grantaire.

“ _Grantaire, mon cher._ ” Grantaire laughed and hugged Valjean. “ _C'est un plaisir de vous voir._ ” Grantaire let him stroke his back and pulled away from him. “ _Et c'est ton Montparnasse?_ ” Grantaire laughed and only shook his head.

“ _Non_ ,” he said simply, looking at Enjolras. “ _C'est mon ami. Comme pas un ami romantique. Ami._ ” Valjean looked at him. Enjolras looked at both of them in confusion. “That's Enjolras,” Grantaire said in english again. “Which is probably surprised that I can speak French. Yes, my dear leader, I speak French. I didn't forget my roots.” Enjolras's expression twisted even more. “Oh God, I had no idea you had such a terrible opinion of me.” He laughed, but Enjolras could hear the bitterness hiding behind the sentence. “I guess we better speak English. Enjolras must still work it out.”

“No problem,” Valjean agreed, and immediately began to speak English. “I'll take you to your room.” Valjean opened the door he had hidden behind a blue blanket right next to the warehouse entrance. “It's a bit unusual, but the repairs are unfortunately the repairs.” He looked at both of them, Grantaire chuckled. “What?”

“ _Vous avez un accent vraiment terrible._ ”

“ _Tais-toi._ ”

“ _Oh, wow, ça fait mal._ ” Valjean opened the door, all walking down the narrow corridor to the blue stairs. He and the boys went up to the second floor and he gave them two keys. “ _Merci, Monsieur Valjean._ ”

“Enjoy your vacation,” he said to Enjolras, then looked at Grantaire. “ _Grantaire, pouvez-vous venir à moi une minute?_ ”

“ _Vie._ ” Grantaire turned to Enjolras and gave him one key. “You can unpack, I'll be back in a moment.” He didn’t wait for Enjolras's reply and followed Valjean upstairs. As soon as they were out of sight, Enjolras looked at the peeling color of the door and pondered. Wouldn't it be better to leave and rent a room in a hotel? He didn’t like this ambience, the unusual attitude, and how Valjean had treated Grantaire, perhaps as if they had known each other for several years. He swallowed dry and told himself that before he’s going to run away cowardly and force Grantaire to find the first available room at the hotel; he would at least look.

As soon as he opened the door, all his doubts suddenly vanished. The room was small, but welcomed him with home atmosphere. From the door he reached a small kitchen where a red coffee pot was glowing. Opposite him were a pair of chairs at a small table with sunflowers in the vase. To the left of the table was a black sofa with duvets and pillows covered with yellow sheets. There was an open door next the sofa that led to a cozy bathroom with a shower. Walls were painted white, accessories were in brown or black, the bathroom had gray tiles and blue towels. Everything looked clean.

Enjolras smiled. He put down his backpack next to the table and looked out the smaller window out onto the street. He looked at park opposite the drugstore. In front of the sofa was a huge glass door with blue curtains that could be opened to the small balcony.

“Great, right?” Enjolras turned to Grantaire, who walked into the room with a smile and tossed his suitcase beside Enjolras. The younger one just nodded. “It’s pretty old though.” With that, he sat down in one of the chairs and sprawled as if to sleep immediately.

Enjolras watched Grantaire rest for a moment as he suddenly said, “I didn't know you spoke French.”

Grantaire opened his eyes and looked at Enjolras. “Seriously, leader?” He reached for his suitcase and began looking for his cigarettes. “Do you really think I'm such a mob that forgets the roots of my own family?”

“Are you from a French family?”

“C’mon Apollo, like—” Grantaire looked at Enjolras. He looked at him with sincere interest. “Wait. As. Like you don't know?” Enjolras just shook his head. “What?” Grantaire asked in surprise, putting the trunk back on the ground. He was no longer interested in cigarettes. “You really don't know?”

“I've already told you I don’t,” Enjolras said exasperatedly.

“Well, I thought that because of the names we had, it would be clear that we had a bit of the same origin.”

“We don't,” Enjolras said immediately, and Grantaire frowned at him. “Well, my mother is half French. That’s true. But she never spoke of France. She moved with her parents from Lyon when she was only five years old. Since then, she only knows London.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“That's why ... you didn't understand me downstairs?”

“Not a word.”

“Didn't your parents teach you French?”

“No,” Enjolras said, sitting on the free chair. “Grandma wanted. But my grandfather was against it. He have pretty bad memories of his live in France and hated everything that reminded him of it. Including language. My mother is the same. My grandmother gave up after a while. Peace in family was always more important to her than her own roots.”

“Wow,” Grantaire said, and Enjolras just shrugged. “That's the most I've ever heard of you in my life.”

“Certainly not.”

“I would argue, leader,” Grantaire laughed, and began to look for something in his trunk again. When he finally pulled out a pack of cigarettes, he took one of them in his mouth and lit it up. He looked at the younger one who had been watching him all the time. “So, your first time in Paris?”

“Yes.”

“Wow,” Grantaire said again, almost finishing cigarette in one breath.

“Your too?”

“No. The first time I was here I was, I think, six years old? Could it be? Then my parents brought me here every year, at least once. And when I was eighteen, I went here to artist practice with my school.” He looked at Enjolras and smiled at his startled look. “That's why we're here. I met Valjean thanks to Cosette, his daughter, whom I met at school. This was her room. Sometimes I slept here. Then Cosette fell in love, moved away with her boyfriend, and he sometimes rent her room to students or tourists.”

They were silent after that. When it was almost good five minute, Enjolras rose from his seat and picked up his backpack. “I'm going to change. Do you want to go out?”

“Of course. To the wine bar, perhaps.”

“We'll talk about that,” Enjolras said seriously, and went to the bathroom. As soon as the door closed behind him, Grantaire leaned on the seat and exhaled deeply. He was glad that he can cover up his nervousness like that. His legs were shaking, his heart pouding, hands sweating. But nothing can be heard in his voice or shows in his attitude. He was thinking about Montparnasse all the time. He couldn’t forget about the photo. He still remember what he promised when they talked about Paris. _That they will lie in the bed, have a lot of good sex, taste every wine, dance on the streets._ But now his thoughts were occupied by Enjolras too. His presence make him nervous. Why is he here? Why with him? What _the hell_ all of this mean?

Grantaire tried to say that all of this was really a friendly gesture. Just as Enjolras calls it. But he was still drowning in suspicion that it was all pity. _Poor Grantaire, his boyfriend broke up with him, so I'm going to spend time with him so he doesn't drink himself to death._ He hated his inner voice. He began to look around the room to find something to employ his head. “Shit,” he whispered to himself.

But Enjolras just came out of the bathroom. He changed from an elegant, light suit to narrow jeans and an airy, blue shirt. He put his things down next to the sofa and looked at the brunette. “Is there something wrong?”

“I forgot, you know, about, now I think… This!” Grantaire pointed to the sofa.

“And?”

“Well, it's one. One sofa. As. One bed. For both of us.” Enjolras frowned a little, indicating that he didn't understand. “Like, you know we're two, but the bed is only one?”

“Of course,” Enjolras said, putting his hands across his chest. “I noticed it as soon as I entered. It’s understandable. If his daughter lived here alone, such a place for sleep was enough for her. If a couple comes here from time to time, there’s no problem with it, because they are used to sleep on one bed. So I don't understand what astonishes you, you said you slept here a few times already.”

“Yeah, but either alone or with someone I slept with.”

“Then I'll be your first sleeping friend.”

“Never say anything like that again, please,” Grantaire laughed, putting his hands in his trouser pockets and feeling blood pouring into his cheeks. “I'll tell Valjean if he doesn't have an extra bed. Or I’ll sleep in a chair. Or on the table. On the ground. It doesn't matter to me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Enjolras said seriously. “We’re mature enough to share some space together. The sofa is big enough for both. I sleep on my right side. No kicking, no sleep talking. I only like to hug or cuddle things before me, so give me the right half and everything will be alright.”

“A...alright,” Grantaire said in a low voice. He blushed even more, feeling how much he wanted to smile. The idea of lying beside Enjolras and cuddling together— “Do you have any plans to do?” He needed to distract himself of his thoughts.

“I'd like to start with a cliché. Like Louvre?”

“I didn’t imagine spending the first day in Paris standing in line. For at least four hours. During that time— ” _Montparnasse and I would finish one fuck, drank two wines and prepared for the next._ “—I would have two wines in me already. Look, you know — What is it?”

“Camera,” Enjolras said, adjusting the strap on which his SLR hung.

“What for?”

“For a photo shoot,” Enjolras said as a clear thing and just shook his head. “Obviously you don't know anything about me either. But I've been taking pictures for about three years. For fun. It's probably my biggest hobby. Sometimes I need to shut down. And looking through the viewfinder allows me to relax a little.”

“So you're one of them.”

“One of them?”

“Tourists! Those annoying people talking always in english, embarrassing everyone around them and taking pictures of every stupid thing they see.” There was a click and light coming from the camera pointing on Grantaire. “What _the hell_ are you doing?”

“I take picture of every stupid thing I see.”

Grantaire tried to tell himself that he didn’t like the little smile on Enjolras’s face. “Well, but if someone asks, we don't know each other.”

“We'll go side by side and talk to each other.”

Grantaire took a deep breath. Maybe it will be a longer holidays than he expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> „Bonjour, Mademoiselle.“ - „Hello, Miss."  
> „Je suis Grantaire, Valjean m'attend.“ - „I'm Grantaire, Valjean is expecting me.“  
> „Grantaire, mon cher.“ - „Grantaire, my dear.“  
> „C'est un plaisir de vous voir." - „Good to see you again."  
> „Et c'est ton Montparnasse?“ - „Is this your Montparnasse?“  
> „Non.“ - „No.“  
> „C'est mon ami. Comme pas un ami romantique. Ami.“ - „That's my friend. Not a romantic friend. Just a friend.“  
> „Vous avez un accent vraiment terrible.“ - „Your accent is really awfull/terrible."  
> „Tais-toi.“ - „Shut up.“  
> „Oh, wow, ça fait mal.“ - „Oh, wow, that hurts."  
> „Grantaire, pouvez-vous venir à moi une minute?“ - „Grantaire, can you go with me for a minute?“  
> „Vie.“ - „Yes.“
> 
> I opened "Birthday fanfictions project", you can read all about it here: https://2wnikiangel.tumblr.com/post/190645365922/birthday-fanfictions-project . Bye for now!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Are you also for your story doing the wonderful thing thta you really look at map and think about the places your characters go by? Well, here I am! I started writing this story because of my enthusiasm to go to Paris after a few years of dreaming. So, because of this fanfic, I started to go through places that I would like to visit, where to go, etc. I feel it is called “voluntary torture” or something. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the next chapter. Can’t wait for your feedbacks!

Grantaire was awakened by annoying sound of ringing. He grumbled in displeasure and buried his head in his pillow. “Sorry, it’s my clock alarm,” said voice behind his back. He was awake in second. He almost jumped out of bed and began to yell because  _ there’s someone with him in bed;  _ when he realized he knew the voice.

Enjolras. Enjolras has an alarm on to wake up because they slept side by side all night. _ They slept side by side. _ Grantaire lifted his head from the pillow and tried to look to his right through the dark curls of his hair. Enjolras was sitting on a bed in a Turkish sitting position, his back straight, his thighs held up. His eyes were closed, his hair was disheveled, his shirt wrapped around his muscular chest. He turned his head sideways as well as his shoulders. He took a deep breath, exhaled, and got up. He seemed to be still half asleep. With his eyes still closed, he walked into the bathroom.

Grantaire exhaled as soon as the door closed behind him. Nor did he realize that he was holding his breath all the time. He reached for Enjolras’s cell phone, which was on his half of bed, and lit up the display. “No fucking way,” Grantaire said immediately, dropping the cell phone and sinking itself into the duvets again. It was only half past eight in the morning. The sun hadn’t really risen yet. Grantaire knew Enjolras was an early bird. Courfeyrac complained several times that after a drunk night full of dancing and flirting; Enjolras woke him up with his morning shower and coffee. As soon as Grantaire tried to fall asleep again, he heard the shower go on. Apparently Enjolras was planning to get up.

But did that mean he had to? Yesterday, no matter how Enjolras tried to be a  _ good friend _ , as he had repeatedly vehemently; it was simply  _ strange _ . Everything — picking up at home, transporting to the airport, the flight itself, arriving in Paris, walking around Paris, and visiting the Louvre Museum — were silent. Enjolras liked to talk, but only about things he knew about. About law, republic, duties, democracy. He was able to talk about school, work, had his, not proven, theory of relationships. He was great at explaining school stuff. But normal talk about what he would like to do in the evening after the meeting at the Musain café; what popular series he enjoyed; if he thinks that the new bartender in the club is really so sexy; when he got drunk for the first time (if any); or if he thinks Musichetta will eventually marry Joly or Bossuet; he didn’t care about it at all. He wasn’t talking about them, he just looked at everyone with such an empty look.

And that’s exactly what happened yesterday. Once they came out, they barely talked. In the queue for tickets to the museum, they said only about five sentences. Grantaire eventually met a bunch of tourists to talk about Paris, travel and French; but Enjolras was silent.  _ “I have nothing to say, so why would I talk?” _ That was the last thing he had told him before entering the museum. They even split up at the entrance and met up to three hours later. Only Grantaire’s:  _ “Would you like to buy something for dinner?”  _ And Enjolras’s:  _ “No.”  _ was last thing they said each other. They didn’t even wish a good night. As soon as they arrived, Grantaire went to the bathroom, where he sat on the toilet seat for a good hour, exhaling the situation that made him anxious. When he finally decided he was mature enough not to hide from Enjolras as a small child and left the bathroom; Enjolras was already asleep.

Grantaire grunted to himself. He liked to sleep until the morning, and still an hour after waking up he was rolling in the duvets. He loved the warmth in them. “Good morning.” Grantaire turned. Enjolras stood in the bathroom door, dressed in a perfect red shirt and brown trousers, wiping his wet hair with a towel. “Do you also like coffee in the morning?”

Grantaire buried his head in the pillow again. “Wine.”

“Funny,” Enjolras said, rolling his eyes. He went into the kitchen and started heating water for coffee.

“Are you always that loud in the morning?”

“I don’t think I’m loud,” Grantaire sat up and looked at Enjolras. “Does it disturb you?”

“Kinda.”

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras said truthfully and smiled at the elder. Grantaire returned his smile and ran a hand through his restless curls.

“Like we're going to get up all this holiday this early?”

“Even sooner if you want.”

“No thanks,” Grantaire grumbled, rubbing his face with his hands. “I feel as if I don't sleep at all.” Enjolras didn’t comment that. He took two mugs from the kitchen line, poured coffee into one, and put a bag of black tea into the other. His gaze stabbed into a bottle of wine lying on the display just above the mugs, but he shook his head quickly. He wasn’t going to support Grantaire in his worst  _ pleasure _ . He filled the mugs with hot water and smiled. He loved the smell of coffee early in the morning. He opened a small refrigerator from which he pulled out two sandwiches he had bought on the way home from the museum. He put them on a plate, one on the table and the other, along with hot tea, handed Grantaire, who was still grumbling on bed about wanting to sleep. “Thanks,” he said, but took only tea from Enjolras. “I don't eat at morning.”

“You should.”

“I know,  _ Mom _ .”

Enjolras placed the plate on the corner of the bed and walked to the table where he began to quietly eat. Grantaire watched him for a moment. Enjolras looked relaxed, despite his cold eyes and silence. After years, he knew his moods. Everything seemed all right now. Grantaire looked at the plate. He loved food, but in the morning he always felt sick. He didn’t understand why people glorified breakfast. He hated the smell of food right after he woke up. He drank hot tea and wondered how strange it would have been if he had the wine instead.

Enjolras finish his plate, his coffee half full. He looked out the window and seemed to think about something. Grantaire felt the silence fall on him. Although he felt good with Enjolras, he didn’t like how little they were able to tell each other. He loved talking, laughing, joking. This was killing him. "We are quite close to the fourth district.” Enjolras didn’t move. Grantaire quickly finished his tea and said again. “I promised Jehan to take a picture of the French pervert’s bed. You know who I mean, the writer. How was — Yeah, Victor Hugo. I always kinda forgot his name.” With that, he finally decided to get out of bed. “If you’re such a tourist, you will certainly appreciate me taking you around the Notre-Dame Cathedral.”

“That would be fine,” Enjolras said gently.

“So… yeah. Okay. Em, give me… four years before I make myself a human again and we can go.”

In an hour they both got off at bus stop number 45 at Rue de la Cité. From a distance they both admired the beauty of the Cathedral. “We can't go in yet,” Grantaire said as they crossed the busy street and approached the monument. “They saved a lot from the fire, but the repairs are taking more time they predicted. You know. There are obstructions around it like in any other country.” Enjolras just grunted, had a camera in his hand, and Grantaire just commented on it with a broad smile. “Well, while we both embarrass ourselves in bunch of people, how about I tell you something about this amazing place?”

“Will it be another of your monologues about how unnecessary religion is?”

“That hurts,” Grantaire said, pouting. “I wanted to talk about how important this cathedral is for gothic style and how important it’s to medieval European architecture. But now I’ll tell you nothing.”

“You already said that it is medieval and Gothic. Do I need to know something more?” Grantaire was already opening his mouth, but in the end he said nothing. He just shook his head and put his hands in his trouser pockets.

When they stood in front of the cathedral for half an hour, Grantaire said a little quieter than usual, “What if we walked to another spot? To Victor Hugo’s house. It's not that far. About half an hour.”

“Why not,” Enjolras said, letting Grantaire lead. He didn’t know how to say it out loud, but he kept thinking about how it was possible for Grantaire to act so natural in foreign country. He knew where to go, even when he didn’t look at them map; he was able to guide tourists on the right path; he switched from english to french in second; nothing surprised him. With a frowning saleswoman at the store, he flirted as boldly as with a blushing girl waiting for her partner at the bar. He even found Grantaire more confident. As if Paris had given him the courage.

The only thing that surprised him was how quietly he spoke. He was always noisy, loved laughter, jokes, he could sing in the shop, at the bus stop, at school. He was one of the annoying sorts of extroverts, just like Courfeyrac. Strangely, though, he thought of both as his friends, he had a different relationship with each other. Courfeyrac was sometimes too much for his calm nature, but he was a friend he could lean on when he was at his worst. He spoke to him when he wanted to know something and needed someone with a more humane view on things than Combeferre.

But Grantaire? Something bothered Enjolras about him. Something he couldn’t describe. For  _ that thing _ , the one — and here he couldn’t say what it was. He once thought he hated him. The second time he thinked that maybe then share same trait that Enjolras hate about himself. For the third time, after one night of smoking his first joint with Feuilly, he wondered if he was attracted to him.

And since then, he was afraid to think about anything about Grantaire. He didn’t wanted to think about how fast his heart beats and how he have butterflies in his stomach every time he heard Grantaire’s laugh. He didn’t wanted to think about how angry he was always, when Grantaire started to humiliated himself in front of everyone. He didn’t wanted to think about how he clenched his fist every time he saw him drink another bottle of wine. He didn’t wanted to think about how he always get drunk in force to forget those evenings, when he see Grantaire taking some stranger to his apartment. He didn’t wanted to think about his own feelings, because he didn’t understand them at all.

But now knew something was wrong. Grantaire was quiet for a long time. “Grantaire,” he said suddenly, noting that he was a good three steps before him. Grantaire stopped and turned. He looked normal. “I hope I didn't offend you.”

“Why should I be offended? Like... because of the talk in front of the cathedral? Jesus, Enjolras, no, good, fine, I’m fine, we’re fine.” Grantaire smiled at him. “Really. I’m one of the people who like to talking about nothing. Don’t worry. I don’t know about that cathedral too much either, to tell the true. I just wanted to look a little smarter. I still remember how annoying and obsessive about this cathedral our teacher on Foundations of Architecture on college was. Every week we talked about it for a good hour. I always felt a little brainwashed after her lecture.” Grantaire waited for Enjolras to reach him and began to swing his arms around him dramatically. Suddenly he returned to his normal position — to the one, when he was talking about five things at once, but in some mysterious way, it was impressive to listen to him in his long-lived monologues. Enjolras smiled to himself and let Grantaire get angry about art lectures at his school. He looked around, sometimes taking pictures. Grantaire led him to an islet surrounded by restaurants and sunken galleries. When they reached the bridge over the Seine, Grantaire stopped suddenly and looked around. Before Enjolras could ask what was happening, Grantaire smiled. “I have an idea.” He turned and signaled to Enjolras to follow him. They walked past the playground, two bus stops, a few shops until they stopped in front of the massive oak door, over which a golden sign glittered. “Hurray!”

Enjolras squinted his eyes a little, reading the sign above the door quietly: “ _Gar... den... Rep…_ _blikajn_?"

“ _ Garde Républicaine _ , but good try, Apollo,” Grantaire said with a smile and looked at the door. “The full name of  _ Gendarmerie Nationale-Garde Républicaine _ .”

“That sounds... militarily.” Before Enjolras could say anything else, Grantaire pressed the bell on the wall. A pretty handsome, not even thirty-year-old boy, wearing black pants and a blue shirt, appeared in the doorway. It looked like a light version of the police uniform.

“No fucking way,” the boy said with a hard english accent, and immediately jumped around Grantaire’s neck. “What are you doing here?”

“I was around, so I though it’s good time to disturb you.”

“You’re an ass,” the young man said, looking at Enjolras behind him. “Sorry to talk like this bluntly in front of Grantaire’s acquaintances.”

“It’s okay,” Enjolras said as soon as he saw the boy looking at him.

The man immediately looked back at Grantaire and asked, “Inside?”

“Of course.” Grantaire looked at Enjolras immediately and signaled him to follow him. Once in the hallway, Enjolras had no idea if he felt first the coldness of the hallway or the strange smell that tickled his nose. But he stopped because the corridor was all enlightened with a crystal chandelier, laboriously paved with beige cubes, and there were several mannequins with military clothing. Each was to represent a different historical period. Enjolras stopped at the first of them. Although he liked art, he didn’t understand it much. But now on the jacket of his first military uniform, he immediately noticed the handmade gold embroidery and wondered how much time it had taken. He immediately noticed the sophistication and precision. Two things he loved in his personal life.

“Enjolras?” The blond looked at Grantaire, who stood alone at the end of the corridor at the large door. Enjolras didn’t even noticed that he had touched the uniform, his fingers gently rolling over the beautiful cloth. He quickly withdrew his hand and walked next to him. “I hope I finally found that you're not amazing in everything.”

“Here,” the young man said, who suddenly appeared beside Grantaire, holding a large bunch of keys in his hand. He chose one of them and unlocked the huge, mahogany door. They led to the land behind the building. It wasn’t a garden. There were hardly any greenery or flowers around. The space was filled with sand, gravel, hay. There were white fences and behind them—

“Horses,” Enjolras said, almost surprised, when he finally realized what the smell he had already felt in the corridor was.

“You get a hundred points and you can get the jackpot,” Grantaire said with a laugh. “At least I’d like to introduce you two. So much for my decency.” He took the young man around his shoulders beside his left, and as if they had known each other for several years, he patted his shoulder proudly and said. “This is Neptune, my friend from college.”

“Well, friend,” Neptune said, frowning as Grantaire pinched his side. “We shared the same room in the dorm. Because it was the only place I could afford with my money back then.”

“And you still owe me the coffee machine.”

“And you still have to remind me.”

They both started bickering amicably. Enjolras moved quietly away from the two friends and moved to one of the fences. He picked up the camera and focused his viewfinder on the chewing horse. Satisfied with the photo, he looked behind himself, where Grantaire and Neptune were still ardently discussing, and moved closer to the fence. He leaned his hands on it and gave a whistled softly. The gray horse looked up and looked at Enjolras. Enjolras looked behind him, where Grantaire and Neptune were arguing about fast food purchases this time, and back to the horse. He whistled again. The horse waved his ear, and Enjolras smiled broadly at him. He picked up a couple of hay of hay from the ground and extended his hand to the horse. “Come here,” he said quietly, but the horse seemed to hear him and walked slowly towards him. He carefully ate the hay Enjolras had offered him. He left his outstretched hand so that the gray horse could sniffed him with large nostrils, and the moment he licked his palm, Enjolras began to scratch his nose and gradually all over his white-gray coat. “What a good boy,” Enjolras said with a smile, and the horse come a little closer to him.

As he stroked his throat, he heard the two men finally stop arguing behind him, walking slowly towards him. Neptune appeared beside him and leaned his elbows on the fence, just like Enjolras. “That's Norma. She seems to like you.”

“Thanks,” Enjolras said with a smile, stroking Norma’s mane.

“She’s five. But she’s was only at two shows. She’s a little disobedient.”

“Seems fine to me.”

“Yeah, she's a friend with everyone for food and good scratching. But once you saddle her, she gets mad.”

“Every girl of yours said that,” Grantaire said behind them and Neptune turned abruptly.

“This joke is older than your mom.”

“That was weak my dear friend.”

Instead, Neptune turned to Enjolras again and just shook his head. “I don't understand how you can be on holiday with him. I would killed him already.” Grantaire yelled something behind them, but this time Neptune didn’t notice. “Would you like a ride? Inside we have a few horses who still need to go out today.”

“Of course,” Enjolras agreed immediately, and he and Neptune went to the stables.

“You will leave me here alone?” Grantaire asked angrily, watching his friends disappear outside the stable door. He shrugged and looked at Norma, who was still standing by the corral. “What?” He asked her, perhaps as if she understood him. “Well, I won't scrub you. God already stroked you, no one will ever be good for you anymore.” Norma snorted, raised her tail, and— “Ugh,” Grantaire said in disgust, taking another two steps back. “What a lady you are.”

Neptune was already returning with Enjolras from the stables, both leading two brown thoroughbreds behind the reins. They talked to each other, Enjolras smiled every now and then. When they reached the side of the corral, Neptune opened it and entered with the horses. They both jumped professionally on the saddle, grabbed the reins, and urged the horses to step. In a moment they went into trot and ran past the corral.

Grantaire looked at them both, smiling. Seeing that they were both slowly pausing and discussing something in the saddles, he moved to their corral. “Well, dear leader, is there anything you can't do?”

Enjolras spurred his horse to a gallop and walked up to the corral, a distance away from Grantaire. “I used to ride a horse quite often as a child.” Enjolras leaned forward a little and patted the horse on the back. “I almost forgot how great it is to sit in the saddle and ride around.” He looked at Grantaire, who stood nearby and grinned. “What?”

“You kids from rich families are all the same. You ride horses, play the piano, learn the violin, you have to be able to dance, behave well, hold the body properly, look good. Always lawyers, businessmen or doctors.”

Enjolras frowned. “I can't play the violin.”

“That's what your parents really neglected,” Grantaire said mockingly, and Enjolras just shook his head. He slapped the horse a few times and stared for a moment at the brunette who was tapping his foot.

“Why are you so far?”

“Sorry?”

“Come here, touch him.”

“No, thanks. Like, I really don’t want to smell like a stinky horse.” 

“He smells wonderful,” Enjolras protested, and began to scrub the horse’s mane. “Oh,” the blond laughed, and he moved the horse closer to the corral. “Are you scared?”

“They're quite big animals, if you didn’t notice,” Grantaire said immediately, pointing to his horse. “That, at times, in people who don’t measure the average puberty of a teenage kid, can make a little uncertain. It has nothing to do with fear, okay? Just, just… Respect.”

Enjolras dismounted, took him by the reins, and walked to the edge of the corral. “Come here.”

“No, no, thanks.”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras said in his typical, leader voice. “Stroke him.”

“Why? Does that please you? Make you horny or something?” Grantaire asked as he stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I simply don’t want to.”

“You don't know what you're missing,” Enjolras said as he stroked the horse several more times.

“Grantaire has always been afraid of horses,” Neptune said as he reached with them with his gelding.

“Respect, understand?  _ Res-pect _ .”

“Sure, Grantaire,” Neptune laughed, jumped off the saddle, and started to talk to Enjolras again. They both talked about the horses of the military guards while Grantaire studied both horses. They looked even bigger so close. He shuddered a little. Horses just weren’t his favorites. Why had he actually decided to visit Neptune at work when he could normally send him a message to meet him at a bar somewhere?

Enjolras helped Neptune to stable horses in their boxes. A few more times Enjolras walked through the stables, back and forth. During that time, Neptune focused again on Grantaire, who stood in the stall door, staring with a smile at his friend, who walked to all the boxes of horses and stroked them slowly on their heads. “Your Montparnasse is a pretty nice boy.”

Ah. So that was the reason. Montparnasse did love horses. He even raced in high school. Grantaire was with him a few times in the stables of his father, who owned two geldings. He has always managed to excuse himself from the ride. But he had never forgotten the sight of Montparnasse smiling broadly, his black hair flying in the wind, and his horse jumping over all obstacles. He loved it.

“This isn't Montparnasse,” Grantaire said, and Neptune frowned. “A long story. Just, for a long time. For a pretty long time. This is Enjolras, my friend. I think I told you about him.”

“Blond leader of group of dreamers?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“I was afraid that when you didn't seduce him, you would tend only to the same types as him.”

“Yeah, if you only knew, buddy.”

“He looks like a good guy.”

Grantaire glanced at Enjolras, who was feeding a carrot to a horse with golden coat. “Yeah, he is,” he said, slightly dreamy.  _ But that was Montparnasse at the beginning too _ . “Okay, it's time to go!” Grantaire roared to the whole stable, and Enjolras immediately reached him. They said good-bye to Neptune at the door and got back into the chaos of the streets of Paris. “I totally forgot how tragic his accent is,” Grantaira laughed as they were only a few steps from the door. “I remember laughing at this on college. It's wasn't very funny, especially for him. But he thought he couldn’t speak a word in French and spoke English like an idiot. But it has improved over the years. Look at him! Blacksmith at the National Guard.”

“I’m still surprised we could go in.”

“It was scheduled, dear leader. The general is at some summit and one of his stupid nephews take lead there. Well, and thank to one super hot and stupid Spaniard, I know he only watch sitcoms and eats pizza all day in his uncle office.”

Enjolras just grunted and let Grantaire lead. Grantaire talked about his studies for a while, mainly explaining in detail the story of the broken coffee machine they had managed to break through one stupid mini golf game in the dorm; when they arrived at Place des Vosges. The park was protected by blooming trees, but it was still possible to see the fountains that dominated the park itself. Several people lay on the grass, some alone, some in pairs. They were sitting or lying on blankets, eating, reading books. “We still need to go there,” Grantaire said immediately, leading Enjolras to one of the entrances of the street, where a black-haired lady sat with home-made purple fan. When she noticed both of them, she smiled and asked, “ _Tour ou exposition?_ ”

“ _ Tour _ ,” Grantaire replied, and the lady handed two leaflets to both of them, and immediately sat back in her chair and looked away.

Enjolras studied the leaflet and immediately understood. “Victor Hugo’s house?”

“Jehan would kill me if I forgot,” Grantaire said immediately, and they both entered the entrance that marked the house of one of the leading French writers. “I've been here a thousand times,” Grantaire said irritably as they reached one of the first rooms. “I'll take a picture of his bed and get away. I’m sick of all the red around.” Enjolras just laughed softly at his dismissive attitude.

It turned out that Grantaire had not only great knowledge of architecture and art, but also literature. As soon as they passed one of Hugo’s first manuscripts, he immediately spoke of the time he lived in. He spoke of his poems, novels, works. As they walked past his wife’s bust, he didn’t forgive a few notes about their marriage. On the contrary, when he saw the family picture, he just sighed quietly at the tragic fate of his daughter. He knew a poem by his memory in which Hugo wrote out of the sadness of losing his daughter. Grantaire told the full poem in French. “ _It will be more beautiful, it will breathe his misery on you_.” Even though Enjolras didn’t understand, he heard Grantaire try to express all the despair of the author only in his voice. When they finally got out in less than an hour, he said, “But I don't like him at all.”

“It didn't seem that way inside.”

“Oh, wait a minute,” Grantaire said, raising his finger to show the importance of his next statement. “Although I don’t like him as an author, I can’t deny that he was pretty important figure in literature.” Grantaire looked around. “Hey, aren’t you hungry?” Enjolras just nodded. “I think you’ll like it there.” He pointed to the corner of the street where the waiters ran around the guests sitting on the outside terrace. “ _ La Place Royale _ . It looks expensive, but it’s okay. And the food is good too.”

As they sat on the white seats, Grantaire helped Enjolras order, and they both sat in silent. Grantaire felt his mouth tingling from all that talking. He looked forward to watering them a little with the wine. Enjolras looked at the park and looked at everyone who was enjoying the lounging of the summer day. They ate their food without talking. Both dedicated to their plate, drink and thoughts. Enjolras was still thinking about the horses, while Grantaire failed to get rid of the thought of Montparnasse. Ever since they arrived in Paris, he was getting more and more into his thoughts. There was no day without thinking about him. But now? He thought of him almost every hour. That’s what he was afraid of. He felt the wine bitter in his mouth.

“Desert?” Enjolras asked suddenly as Grantaire asked the waiter for a bill.

“I'm always into everything that contains sweets,” Grantaire said.

“What if we ate that over there?” He pointed to the park, and Grantaire just smiled. “What?”

“Only two days and you're already a Parisian.”

They both paid for their food and took a wrapped desserts from the waiter. Once they got into the park, Grantaire found the place where the sun was most hot and threw his sweatshirt there. He lay on his stomach and immediately began to unpack the sweet. “It smells so good,” he grumbled contentedly and began eating a piece of cake with a plastic spoon. Meanwhile, Enjolras took off his backpack, pulled out his jacket, carefully laid it down, sat down in a Turkish sitting position and unwrapped his dessert on his lap. He smiled in satisfaction as he picked up the first piece of bread. “I'm really glad Jehan left his first idea,” Grantaire said right away. He was in a better mood than in the morning. He didn’t know if it was the sun, wine, or sweet. Maybe everything. “Originally he wanted me to photograph the graves of famous writers and painters.” Grantaire tapped his forehead and just shook his head.

“Are you scared of cemeteries?” Enjolras asked curiously.

“And you not?” Grantaire looked at him and put another big piece of cake in his mouth. Enjolras just shook his head. “I don’t understand who would not be afraid of cemeteries. After all, there are, like, you know, dead people. Like real dead people. We just go to a place where people are dead. I don’t know if it’s more disgusting or morbid. Maybe both.”

“Are you afraid of ghosts?”

“I wouldn't say I'm afraid, but—”

“—You have _ respect _ for it?”

Grantaire looked at Enjolras’ raised eyebrows. “That tone was supposed to be what, young sir?”

“I never thought you were afraid or scared of anything. You don’t look like that. You always make fun of everything. And today I find that you are afraid of ghosts and horses.”

“Horses are just huge animals that should scare you.”

“Why?”

“Did you saw their teeth! And hooves! And weight! Ang height! And everything!”

"I see," Enjolras said with a laugh, putting another cinnamon bread in his mouth.

“Well, tell me! What are you afraid of? Or do the gods not know what fear is?”

“Of course I'm afraid of something, Grantaire,” Enjolras said, slightly irritated. He hated this glorification of his own personality into a deity. It was one of the things that bothered him about Grantaire. He had asked him several times to stop it. “I'm human, it’s clear I have something that scares me, too.”

“Tell me what then.”

“Um,” Enjolras grumbled, slowly chewing on the last piece of dessert. “Probably a failure. That’s my biggest fear. That I won't finish my studies. Or I won’t find a work. Or I won’t be successful in it. Or if I finally found out that our fighting about rights was useless. It scares me that sometimes I find that what I do has no future.”

“Wow,” Grantaire said, blinking a few times. “I should have reconsidered my answer. I was telling you about ghosts and horses and you pull a poetic bomb on me.”

“Are you afraid of the same thing?”

“You mean failure?”

“Hm.”

“Maybe a little,” Grantaire said, pausing for a moment. “Like, not that I don’t really believe myself so much. I have to say quite a bit that sometimes I find myself praising myself somehow and thinking that I have painted something really good this time. But... it's very controversial with art, you know. You give people everything of yourself. And they can completely destroy you. There is more in those works, your heart, soul and everything.”

Enjolras stared for a moment at Grantaire, who licked the last chocolate piece from the spoon. He picked up his backpack and pulled out his cell phone. For a moment he was looking for something. “Here,” he said suddenly, handing it to Grantaire. He took it without asking and covered his display with his hand to see it. “This is my—”

“You have instagram account for your photos?” Grantaire asked, surprised, and looked at Enjolras. He just nodded. “So your photoshotting is pretty serious after all.”

“Occasionally,” Enjolras admitted. “I do it for pleasure, but it is true that I enjoy sharing photos with others.”

“Wait, but no one in the group is following you. You didn’t tell them?” Enjolras just shook his head. “Why?”

“Fear,” he admitted. “As you say, every artist opens up a bit too much to the audience. I guess I didn’t want you all to know about it.”

“Wow,” Grantaire said again, handing Enjolras his cell phone back. He tried not to think of how his stomach tickled as he realized he knew more about Enjolras than the others. As if he really meant something to him— “Do you know we're both quite lost art cases?”

“A little.”

With that both decided to lie in the sun for a while and stay silent.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Being an author of fanfictions is sometimes difficult. You like it, you improve your writing technique and grammar, you want to enrich your fandom with something, thanks to fanfications you fulfill your (for someone achievable!) dream of being a writer; and sometimes you feel like it's useless, that all you do is actually a groan that no one heard. But in the last week and a half something happened something I had never hoped for. Comments. Not just one, not just two - a few! On all the czech versions of fanfictions for Les Misérables. They warmed my heart and I have to say that they gave me so much energy that I was able to work so hard that I’m slowly finishing the A Week in Paris. I would like to namely thank LilyElfGreen, Sineada and samba for this. Thank you very much and I hope that you and others will continue to enjoy my work.

The beginning of the next day was the same as the previous one. Enjolras fell asleep within minutes they came back, Grantaire was able to lie down next to him after four hours as his eyelids dropped and he almost fell asleep on the toilet seat in the bathroom, hiding from Enjolras again. Enjolras’s alarm clock rang at seven-thirty, he stretched his body, took a shower, made breakfast. Grantaire grumbled in his pillow, but received a hot cup of tea from Enjolras with a teaspoon of sugar and a piece of lemon. Enjolras put two ham rolls as breakfast on the bed, and say nothing. Grantaire didn’t eat again. Enjolras himself ate quietly at the table, occasionally looking out the window, sometimes seeming to think deeply about something. Grantaire calmly finished his hot tea, sat down on the bed, and just yawned.

“So today—” Grantaire shivered. “—Eiffel Tower?”

“Why are you so grinning?”

“I imagine the rush of tourists and annoying sellers.”

“Sellers?”

“You'll see,” Grantaire said, getting out of bed. He wanted to get back right away. Why did Enjolras just have to get up so early? He totally disrupted his plans for long sleep and drunkenness nights. He grumbled in displeasure.

“So,” Enjolras suddenly began, adjusting a strand of restless hair behind his ear. “Do you want to do something else?”

Grantaire looked at Enjolras’ face and smiled. “What do you think?”

“I'm not going to the bar with you,” Enjolras said as soon as he saw his eyes light up. He had no desire to support Grantaire in his  _ best sin _ . Whenever he just saw him go to Corinth after the meeting, he clenched his fists. It didn’t matter if he went alone or with Joly and Bossuet, whom he had tried to arrange to go to the cinema instead of drinking at the bar; it still bothered him somehow. He wanted to talk to Grantaire about it, but he knew they’d just have a fight. From time to time, Enjolras wondered if Grantaire was realizing how much he really cared about him.

He shook his head. He should not think about such things now. It just distracts him.

Grantaire noticed Enjolras frowning. “You're afraid I'd see a drunk God, aren’t you?” He laughed, but felt the tea coming back to his throat. He felt as if Enjolras was judging him. It made him sick. “What do you think of theme parks?”

“If you mean something in the sense of a forest zoo, I have no problem with it, but animals don’t like me very much, so we would just lure everyone apart and see nothing.”

“How is that possible?” Grantaire asked in amazement, and Enjolras merely rolled his eyes. Whenever they walked down the street and saw a dog, he always barked at Enjolras; the cats ran from him, and even the fish were crouched in the corner of the aquarium. In fact, Grantaire was surprised that the horse hadn’t knocked him out of his saddle yesterday. “I meant something in the sense of an amusement park. Like Disneyland.”

“ _ Like  _ or  _ really _ ? I know there is one in Paris,” Enjolras said, remembering how he had been browsing the maps of Paris the night before leaving, looking for interesting places where to go. “But honestly, it nothing for me. I don’t like Disney at all.”

“Or fun,” Grantaire said quietly, but Enjolras heard him. He frowned a little. He knew that others were making fun of his, sometimes introverted, nature. But now he felt a little stung around his heart. What was that? “Do you know  _ Jardin d'acclimatation _ ?” Enjolras frowned even more and Grantaire laughed. “I'm kidding, I know it won’t tell you anything. It's kind of like an amusement park. If you wanted to.”

“You mean a real amusement park? Roller coaster, shooting range and Ferris wheel?”

“You saw one in documentary online, right?” Grantaire chuckled at his own joke and quickly picked up his stuff. He didn’t like something about Enjolras's gaze. His eyes glittered strangely. It was different glitter from the meetings of their political group. The glitter that had been blown through his entire eye for a second was not contempt or surprise. That look made his heart pound. It looked like  _ pain _ . He had a strange feeling as if he just  _ hurt him.  _ “Give me minute to dress up and we can go. We don’t need to ride anything, but you need to taste their pancakes. They’re amazing.” With that, he disappeared into the bathroom without looking at Enjolras.

Enjolras looked at the closed bathroom door for a moment. As soon as he heard a stream of running water, he rose from his seat and went to their suitcases. He looked at the door again. Grantaire began to sing. He quietly opened Grantaire’s trunk. Just from the top, so he can stretch his palm there. As he reached for a sketchbook and a few pencils, he pulled his hand out of the trunk and rose. He hid the sketchbook and pencils in his backpack. “It’s not fun with me,” he whispered to himself, smiling slightly. “We'll see.”

Enjolras, as every day so far, was led by Grantaire. He felt strangely safe with him. As soon as they left the house, Grantaire didn’t close his mouth. When they were on the street, he talked about the architecture of each house; when they walked into the subway, he talked about the mode of transport nearly two hundred years ago, when they had trouble reaching the stagecoach due to the raised water and swampy roads; when they walked out of the subway, he was already wondering that it hadn’t rained once and that it was probably Enjolras’s merit (“How could it rain when the Sun God himself is here?” - “Can you stop?” - “Oh, mighty Apollo, thank you for such beautiful weather in these busy, post-breakup times!” - “I mean it, Grantaire!”); as they entered the Boulognes Woods, he told him the remarkable experiences he had experienced in the woods during his studies - from picnics with his classmates to getting into a fight with a local gang of drug dealers.

“Here we are!” He said enthusiastically as they appeared outside the gate, and Grantaire immediately jumped to the ticketing window and before Enjolras even pulled out his wallet, Grantaire was already dragging him inside.

He had no idea what he should have imagined under the name. But this surprised him. “Are these... children’s attractions?” Enjolras pointed ahead, where the small, roller coaster echoed the happy, sometimes frightened, screams of young children.

Grantaire grinned at him and immediately shrugged. “I didn't say what kind of amusement park it would be. But I take you to mercy. There are attractions, primarily for children, but we can also go just around, if you are interested.”

Enjolras thought about it. “I was on Ferris wheel three years ago.”

“You’re really having some kind of problem with fun.” It sounded like a reproach, but Grantaire immediately smiled and pointed ahead. “So we're going this way,  _ old man _ , this might interest you. Do you see this big tower before us?” A tall, gray wall towered across from them. It looked like part of a demolished castle. “It's not a monument, they built it just because they wanted to. It's a dove.” They walked around the wall, and indeed — the entire back was exposed, and a few pigeons were flying in it. “Actually, it is quite a tradition that this is, apart from a piece of children's attractions, a kind of park to calm down and get to know nature. I think you’re quite a Parisian, so you should know where the Parisians go to hide sometimes.” With that he went to his left, took a deep breath. “And since these walks are usually rather boring, let me tell you something about this beautiful place.”

So they walked. Enjolras remained silent and Grantaire spoke. He told him how they built the park, about how exotic animals, exotic plants and trees were shown here. He told of a time when the Prussian-French War broke out and the park was closed and almost destroyed. “You know people were so hungry that they simply slaughtered animals they couldn’t take away? They just ate them. Including two elephants. A cruel time, takes a few cruel actions.” His speech then turned to the restoration of gardens and its significance for French history. “To live at that time, I know what you would do here. Protested! Because in addition to the exhibition of exotic animals, they also exhibited live people from exotic countries. Indians, Sami, mainly Africans. Behind the bars. Like some piece of meat for sale. That was hell then. But nothing was done for a long time. I think if you got into it, in a couple of months they'd have to close it all up, how would you fuck them with the demonstrations.” They both laughed.

Without realizing it, they went through almost two circuits of gardens. They looked into an aviary with exotic birds, admired flowers from all over the world, and enjoyed the peaceful environment. If they had not returned to the crossroads, where children were screaming again, Enjolras would have forgotten that he was in one of Europe’s busiest cities. They came to one of the restaurants and after a quiet lunch, which they both drunk with juice (“We are in Paris, you have to drink wine.” - “I don't have to.” - “Then I must.” - “No.” - “Sometimes you’re pretty annoying, do you know?” - “I take it as one of my charms.”), Enjolras looked at a few attractions. “Would you go?”

“What?” Grantaire asked, realizing he didn't notice listened to him for a while. He wanted to drink wine. He couldn’t stop thinking about it. Joly had told him several times that he should talk to someone about it. He didn’t listen.

“Would you go?” Enjolras asked again, pointing to the highest and fastest roller coaster.

“Well, I don't know, I didn't think about it.”

“Are you afraid? Well, sorry, do you have  _ respect  _ for this?”

“Did you just tried to mock me?”

“Maybe,” Enjolras said a little mysteriously, and Grantaire smiled broadly at him. He felt  _ wonderful _ . When was the last time he felt this relaxed? And just with him? He felt as if he had dreamed it all.

“Sure why not. I haven't seen God vomiting.”

“And you won't see either.”

“We'll see.”

Grantaire really didn’t see  _ God vomiting,  _ but Enjolras think that maybe a few more seconds at the ride, and his wish would come true. He knew he wasn’t looking the best. Grantaire studied his face for a while and suggested that it would be better if they sat down. But Enjolras didn’t want to show that riding attraction for children (grown children, which was the only thing he tried to calm himself) almost made him sick. Instead, they went to the shooting range, where they discovered they couldn’t be professional killers. From twenty shots they managed to fire one rose and a small, plush, blue tiger, which Enjolras immediately gave Grantaire. He received it, with a blush on his face, and put it in his chest pocket, his big ears sticking out. Grantaire fed several animals behind the enclosure, while Enjolras stood nearby because, as he approached, all the animals disappeared immediately (“I guess I'm not a good person.” “What are you talking about?” - “Doesn’t they say that animals can feel the bad souls” - “Rather, they can smell the croissant in my pocket. Don't take it so seriously.”).

After a few hours, they sat down after all. They sat on a bench opposite a large fountain in which a pair of ducks floated. “Do you want something to drink?” Enjolras asked suddenly.

“Wine,” Grantaire said with a smile, and Enjolras just sighed. “I feel like a teenage son whose mother won’t let him go to the student party because there will be alcohol.” Enjolras just rolled his eyes and went to one stand. Grantaire watched him for a moment as he tried to say something in French, to buy what he wanted. He found it cute how clumsy Enjolras was in everyday situations. Almost as if he could only work on an academic level. Everything about relationships and human interactions simply went beyond him. Sometimes he almost felt sorry for him.

_ Montparnasse was master in it. He could wrap people around his finger. Seduce a girl who lived in celibacy; fuck a guy who was “100 percent heterosexual”. He had enchanting talent. He was proud, confident, sometimes a bit arrogant. But that was his charm. A magic that captivated even Grantaire. And he knew French. Oh, his _ French _. He always spoke French when he and Grantaire made love. When- _

Grantaire shook his head. How was it possible that even after everything he had done and how much he tried not to think about him; he always found a way to crept into his thoughts? It seemed as if his shadow had gone to Paris with him. He couldn’t get rid of him. “Here.” Enjolras was already reaching out to him with a cup, and said, almost bitterly: “Wine.”

Ignoring the tone of his voice, Grantaire threw himself greedily at the cup and drank it almost to one gulp. “I missed it  _ so much _ !” He shouted enthusiastically. Meanwhile, Enjolras sat beside him and began sipping from his coffee. Grantaire looked at him and smiled slightly. “What’s with the sight, Apollo?”

“I don't like when you drink.” He bit his lip. He didn’t mean to say that. Sometimes he said things before he thought them over. He tried to work on it, but if there was something that bothered him or was very excited about; he couldn’t command the brain to think it first. “I meant…” His tongue moistened his lips and looked at Grantaire, who had a neutral expression on his face. “You often drink when you have nothing to do.”

“Thanks for reminding me that I'm not doing very well right now,” Grantaire said a bit angrily, and he drank the whole cup. He wanted more.

“Not doing well?” Enjolras asked in surprise, leaning his elbow against the bench. “As?”

“You don’t know? Art doesn’t make much money. Don’t you read about all those beloved artists who have lived all their lives in shits, but once they died, they’re hit? That’s exactly me. I only paint because I know that once I fucking die already, my loathes will hang in someone’s bedroom above the bed and people would praise me as some God.” Grantaire laughed, but Enjolras frowned. Normally, he hadn’t responded much to Grantaire’s monologues, where he was mocking and humiliating himself, but now he was alert. It had been half a year since he had noticed that Grantaire would always tell something about death.  _ His death. _ Perhaps just one sentence. But he didn’t forget to mention it. He often talked about how it would be when  _ he wasn’t here _ . That frightened Enjolras. Mainly because others just waved at it and said,  _ “That's just Grantaire.”  _ How come no one noticed? “You look like you want to rescue a wounded bird on the road.” Enjolras blinked and returned to reality. Grantaire was still looking at him, but this time he was smiling sincerely, and his eyes glittered again in the typical way that made him feel butterflies in his belly. “I take it positively. I can’t get to heaven, but maybe hell won’t want me, so I’ll stay here llike a ghost and haunt places where my paintings are. I hope for some nice mistress with really decent D-cup breasts and a bunch of lovers to look at.” Grantaire waited for Enjolras to laugh, but he was silent. He looked at him with a look he couldn’t yet identify. Instead, he looked ahead and brought the cup to his mouth. He forgot he had finished it already. He grumbled in displeasure to himself. He was missing wine. In the room, always before he lay down beside Enjolras and before they left, when he excused himself for  _ “forgetting something” _ ; he secretly drank. In less than three days, the bottle was empty, and he felt prickle on his tongue and his fingers shaking.

Enjolras suddenly rose from his seat. Grantaire wanted to ask where he was going, but in the end he just opened a mouth he couldn’t close. Enjolras went to a girl who stood under the lamp and was playing with her phone. Enjolras tapped her shoulder (“Like a  _ old man _ ,” Grantaire said quietly to himself). The girl looked at him instantly, and as soon as she saw him, her cheeks rose and her mouth slightly opened. Grantaire knew this very well. That’s how he reacted when he saw Enjolras for the first time. He also thought he was dreaming. Enjolras began to say something quietly. Grantaire didn’t heard anything. The girl started to smile, adjusted her hair behind her ear, and lowered her eyes. The pink on her cheeks slowly turned red. Grantaire felt his hand shake, holding an empty cup. He quickly threw it in the trash beside him. He missed. He took a deep breath. He couldn’t get himself to look in front of him. Why did he have that terrible feeling around his heart again? As if someone was squeezing him and he couldn’t breathe because of it. He  _ hated  _ it.

He wanted to close his eyes, concentrate on breathing for a moment when Enjolras returned to him. “This is Eve,” he said suddenly, and Grantaire greeted the girl with a wave of his hand. “Paint her.”

Grantaire blinked. “What?” He asked, frowning a little. “What do you mean-”

“Paint her,” Enjolras repeated in a determined voice. “To have something in your portfolio.”

“Wait,” Grantaire said suddenly, looking at Eve, who was smiling gently at him. “This, you just can't do this. I, I, I have  _ something _ to paint, but I don't want to, okay? I’m just a shitty painter. That’s all. Do you understand?”

“You're not,” Enjolras said in a rougher voice and looked at Eve. “He’s not.”

“I believe you,” she said in a soft voice and perfect English. “Artists are like that.”

“Artists? Like that… Look, please, look. Shit.” Grantaire had no idea how to start.

“Paint her,” Enjolras said almost pleadingly. “Maybe you're just focusing on the wrong models. Who did you last paint?”

“You.” Enjolras paused, and Grantaire felt his ears flush. “Well, not you! You - never! I never painted you. Do you think I ever painted you? Have you ever stand for me like a model? ”

“No,” Enjolras said quietly. “Never…”

“You see, Apollo,” Grantaire said, leaning back into the bench. He had to breathe deeply. He almost revealed his secret. Sometimes he asked friend to be a model in his studio or at home in his living room, but he normally focused more on the models offered by the school in anatomical drawing. He found it strange to look at his friends through the canvas and the color palette. He felt insecure. And actually, it didn’t suit him so much. He felt he needed to put something  _ better  _ and  _ more beautiful _ to almost  _ divine _ on the canvas. When he first saw Enjolras, his first thought was,  _ “I could paint you daily,” _ he had to admit; but he never said it out loud. But when he drew, he often got into his thoughts, and although he never intended it, he drew Enjolras regularly. Thank to him he improved his skills in anatomy of body, muscles, eyes and hair. Oh, the  _ hair _ . When they met, he had them above his ass. He always had them carefully pinched in a bun, but once, only once, he saw him with his hair loose. After one demonstration. They were in all directions, covering his face. They looked like the Gulf of the Golden Ocean. Grantaire couldn’t take his eyes off him. Two months later he cut his hair. When he saw Enjolras with his new cut, with almost shaved sides, a dense islet at the center of his head and a shaved biblical symbol above one ear; he fell in love with his neck. It was beautifully white, the skin was tight, wrinkle-free, with a small freckle right in the middle. He had a weakness for his neck. When he put the silver chain around it for the first time, what he got from Courfeyrac as a thank you for helping him to get into Law School; a glass of wine fell from his hand. In the middle of Musain. During the reunion. Everyone was looking at him. Even Enjolras. It was embarrassing.

Painting was a kind of therapy for him. He had such a strange lover-hate relationship with it. He loved painting but at the same time, it hurted to look how much his art revealed about him. He loved to draw Enjolras, to have the opportunity be with  _ him _ in one room, glamourize his body and hair; but at the same time he hated that it was only a fantasy. He destroyed every canvas with him. But the sketch drawings remained in his sketchbooks buried under his bed. He almost forgot about them.

Until he saw them holded by Montparnasse. He didn’t intend to, and he didn’t want to expose his partner to watch (and find out) how obsessive he was with one of his friends (was he really his “friend”?). It was a coincidence. Grantaire went to take a bath, relieve himself after a busy day,  _ prepare for a spectacular night.  _ As he returned from the bathroom wiping his wet hair with a towel, Montparnasse sat on the couch, five of his sketchbooks before him, all open. He looked at Grantaire with a cold look, his cheeks red and his lips tight. He opened them so he could say—

“Grantaire?” The brunette twitched. He looked quickly in front of him. Enjolras looked at him, and the girl’s eyes flickered between them. Grantaire took a deep breath and just nodded. “So you’ll paint Eve?”

“Jesus, Apollo, you’re so fucking convincing.” Grantaire would have sworn that Enjolras smiled at him. “But… but I have nothing. You know what, to paint someone, I would need a little paper and here too— ” Enjolras opened his backpack and pulled Grantaire’s sketchbook from it. He put it on his lap. He placed several pencils on it. “That's… these are my stuffs,” Grantaire whispered softly, looking into Enjolras’s face. “Where did you get them?”

“Paint her,” he said, almost sternly.

“All right,” whispered Grantaire. He felt like a child his father had made himself sit down to do his homework. Enjolras as a father. Strict, willing, determined to help, but also clear in what is right and wrong. Perhaps he would like to be called _ “Daddy” _ —Grantaire shook his head quickly. He couldn’t think of this now, and never again! “Okay, how do you - Eve?” Eve just nodded. “Well, I'm not exactly the fastest. A few girls said it was a great quality, but not exactly in painting.” Enjolras sighed aloud, and Eve chuckled. “So, I don't know how much time you have and I wouldn’t want to bother.”

“It’s fine, I have time.”

“Okay. So please sit here like this at the end of the bench.” Eve obeyed him, sat across from him, and looked into his face. She smiled beautifully. “Wow, listening to a stranger like that? Your parents may have brought you up well and probably never warned you very much about strangers.”

“Not from the beautiful ones,” she said with a cute blush and looked at Enjolras for a second. He didn’t notice.

But Grantaire saw it. He just chuckled. “I understand you,” he said with a smile. “So leg over leg, hair over shoulder on chest, relax, it’ll take a while.” Grantaire opened the sketchbook, took one of the pencils, and began to move his wrist. “I like to talk while painting, don’t you mind?”

“No,” she replied.

“Great. So, Eve, you’re probably not from Paris, are you?”

“I'm on vacation.”

“Like us,” Grantaire said almost enthusiastically. “What brings you there?”

“Engagement.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

“Where is your chosen one?”

“He’s not really good friend with colecoaster.”

“Aye, making friend with toilet bowl?”

“Those kids who were waiting to ride under us could tell you even more.” They both laughed.

Enjolras sat on the edge of the fountain. Neither of them noticed that he stepped away from them. He looked at them, studied them. He didn’t even know why he suddenly decided to asked Eve to be a model for his friend. But he knew he wanted to see Grantaire work.

He pulled the camera from his backpack and focused his viewfinder on Grantaire. He clicked several times. Enjolras couldn’t even check the photographs, just clicked and clicked and clicked. After a while he put down the camera and put it in his lap. He couldn’t take his eyes off Grantaire. It was true then, what Joly said. Joly often told him how strange Grantaire looked when he works (“Strange?” - “Just different.”). His eyes glittered. His hands moved gracefully. He smiled constantly. He had cute shade of pink on his ears. He looked more confident, more  _ serious _ .

Enjolras swallowed dry, took a deep breath, and hid the camera back in his backpack. He looked at the zipper as if expecting to begin to explain why he wanted to hug Grantaire tightly and soak his scent into his lungs.  _ The beautiful and sharp cologne associated with his sweet and strange scent of the artist. _

“Enjolras.” The blond man looked ahead. Grantaire and Eve stood side by side. A man, perhaps only a few years older, with black, thick hair and big green eyes stood beside her side. He was smiling and constantly watching the paper Eve held in her hands and giggled. “Done,” he said proudly, lifting his chin. Enjolras just nodded and returned to his friend. “Have a nice day. And celebrate the engagement.”

“Don't worry about it,” the man said, kissing her on the cheek, hugging her tightly around her side and waving their hands. They kept looking at the paper and discussing it loudly. “Love birds. One more second and I could be vomiting too.” He looked at Enjolras, who was still looking in their direction. “Look, I didn't get paid for it, because what would I be an artist if I didn’t just paint free from time to time, did I? But I got something from them.” He handed Enjolras a ticket. He began to look at it with interest. “Boat trip on the Seine, some sightseeing tour. They said they couldn't make it anymore, so they give me them. I'm not really into these things, but you don’t you want to go? It’s mainly for couples, by sunset you know, but— ”

“I want to go,” Enjolras said honestly.

“Great. Come with me then.”

With that both of them packed their belongings and went to the nearest stop. It wasn’t long before the captain checked their tickets and shoved the cap in front of them with the wish of  _ a beautiful voyage _ . They both climbed the stairs to the upper deck and sat two places almost to the rear. A mild cold breeze blew. Grantaire leaned against the railing and looked down as the water rippled. “Have you never been on such a voyage?” Enjolras asked as they sat in their seats for fifteen minutes, and neither of them spoke.

“No,” Grantaire said abruptly, still looking down the railing. There was a blow that announced that the stairs had been removed from the boat. Soon the boat started its engine and sailed slowly into the center of the Seine. In a moment Enjolras invited the monotonous sound of the engine, feeling like a lullaby. He wanted to close his eyes and be carried away by the sound, along with the sound of the breeze and the whisper of water. But the view of the setting sun was more beautiful. The way the beams touched all buildings, trees, people; was charming. He reached for his camera again and wanted to turn toward Grantaire, who was sitting closer to the magnificent fountain park that Enjolras was looking for; when he got into the shot. Enjolras stared at his friend through the viewfinder for a moment, but didn’t pull the trigger. He slowly lowered his camera and looked at Grantaire with his eyes.

He was still leaning on the railing, but this time he was looking ahead. His hair flowed in a gentle breeze, looking relaxed, but something —  _ something _ — was strange about him. He looked sad. He looked like someone who will start crying anytime. “Today… was fine,” he said suddenly.

Enjolras blinked. “Yes, it was,” he said, putting the camera in his backpack.

“After a long time, I felt really… really good.” With each word, his voice was quieter.

“I'm glad.”

“Thanks,” he said, almost inaudibly, his gaze once more on the water. Enjolras was sure his eyes glowed with tears.

He decided it would be better to say nothing.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been looking forward to writing this chapter from the very beginning, sice I did a quick sketch of what each chapter should be about. This one is about something I like to write about and actually dusciss a lot in real life. Relationships and their impact on human personality. But I saw the next chapter sixth in front of me - which, on the contrary, would be the most difficult for me to write, so I took a little time with this one. Finally I tried to enjoy it and I managed to write almost 15,000 words. Ups. Have a nice reading!
> 
> PS: I hope you are all healthy! Take care!

“Today's plans?” Grantaire asked as he sipped a bitter black tea while Enjolras eaten his breakfast. Grantaire hadn’t even opened his eyes and his hair stuck out in all directions. Enjolras thinked that he was infinitely _cute_ at that moment.

He shook his head quickly. It was too early for such thoughts. “Actually, I was thinking about leaving the choice to you.” Grantaire opened one eye. “I liked it yesterday. You know places that I wouldn’t even think of looking for, let alone explore. Maybe it would be better if I was led by someone else this time. Again.” It sounded like a challenge.

“I have one favorite place,” Grantaire began, drinking his tea. “Outside the city, it’s not far. If you don't mind the trains, it's a pretty pleasant journey. And I think there might not be many tourists there now. Actually, I've never seen so many of them back there.”

“Okay, that sounds interesting,” Enjolras agreed, focusing again on his breakfast.

Within an hour and a half, they were getting off the train that had brought them to Provins. Enjolras had no idea that such city existed. As soon as he got out of the train door he was intrigued by the pleasant feeling that greeted him. Stone walls, beautiful flowers, almost historical aisles. He felt as if he was suddenly in the Middle Ages. But he was surprised about how many people he saw, especially tourists. Didn’t Grantaire mention that there was peace and no tourists? Grantaire said nothing, he simply took Enjolras a few streets down the street and found themselves in front of Caesar's Tower. “Let's go,” Grantaire said firmly, and immediately started climbing the stairs. Enjolras looked back at the door. He saw no one. Grantaire simply knew the way to get people out of sight. As they walked to the top of the tower, Grantaire stood up and looked down. Enjolras leaped to him, already trying to grab his hips and pull him down. Grantaire just laughed. “Don't worry, Apollo, you won't get rid of me so easily. I don't want to end it like this.” Enjolras winced. He really said— “Look, over there by the corner. They make the best onion cakes here. You need to taste it!” Grantaire walked around Enjolras, and headed back toward the spiral stairs. Enjolras looked behind his vanishing figure and frowned. Grantaire was normally very hyperactive and sometimes is frightened the others _how much_ ; but now it seemed - strange. As if Grantaire was just playing it. Grantaire didn’t look at his face at all. Along the way, he didn’t try to enchant him with his knowledge of history and art. He hadn’t praised his appearance since the morning (He’d heard the following in the last few days only - “Your hair is shining with gold.”, “I don't want to praise you, but do you even sleep like human? Do you understand that you still look good even after you wake up from the most plank dream?”, “Your pants fit you pretty good, you have a nice ass in them. Not that I look at your ass. But I believe the others do.”) - but not that that mattered to Enjolras. Of course.

The city was beautiful. Enjolras tried to perceive old walls, magnificent houses, shops and flowers, with as much enthusiasm as last days. But it didn’t work. Grantaire walked a few steps ahead. He said nothing, he wasn’t even humming; when a nice girl or man passed by, he didn’t respond. He just went and said nothing. He stopped by one store to buy two pieces of onion cake. “It's good,” he said simply, not even looking at Enjolras, putting a piece of cake in his hand and moving on to the other side. He didn’t stop at the church, didn’t stop before entering the preserved underground, didn’t stop in front of the monument. He just walked down alleys that were as silent as him. Enjolras felt how tight his throat was. He tried to find a little enthusiasm in him and take pictures of the beauty of the place so he could remember everything. He was excited when they arrived. But why did he feel he wanted to escape now?

“Wait,” Enjolras said suddenly. He couldn’t stand it anymore. “Wait a minute.” Grantaire stopped and turned to him. He was holding a whole piece of cake in his hand. He didn’t even bite it. What did he eat today? Enjolras couldn’t remember. “Is something wrong?” He asked cautiously.

“What should happen?” Grantaire asked, blinking a few times. He seemed to be trying to look as confused and neutral as possible. But Enjolras saw it. He saw his eyes full of sadness. They were empty and screaming. What for? And why? Enjolras had no idea.

“You don’t look...” No, that was a bad start. To alert a person what, apparently, suffers from not looking good? He won’t talk then. He would try to convince him that everything was all right. He had to do it differently. “Aren't we going to sit somewhere? We've been walking for quite a while. I don’t want to complain, but after those days full of travel, I feel a little bit tired and I need a rest.”

Enjolras expected Grantaire to make fun of him (“You're getting old, Apollo! Olympus will hold a week's sadness for you!”), he wanted him to say something funny and stupid - but nothing. Grantaire just looked at him, then frowned a little, seeming to think. “Two streets down there is a restaurant where they make delicious crème brûlée, or if you would like to eat at the corner there is one such little café, they don’t do anything to eat there, but the coffee is really good there. Or we can go back to the walls, there is enough restaurant and we can choose something.”

“I was hoping for something calmer.”

Grantaire raised one eyebrow. “Like?” Enjolras pointed his finger to the right and up a little. Grantaire looked in the direction he showed him and chuckled. For the first time in the day, he showed something _different_ than an unpleasant silence. “Didn't you say you’re tired?”

“And?”

”You're showing me one of the biggest hill I've ever gone to.” Enjolras didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to talk to him about his feelings in the middle of an empty street that led through family houses. He felt as if someone was constantly watching them. Grantaire studied him for a moment. Enjolras didn’t move. “I don't understand you sometimes,” he whispered rather to himself. Enjolras suspected he shouldn’t have heard it. But he did. And he didn’t know what to think about it. “Come on,” he said, trying to smile. The blond boy knew his smile was fake. Grantaire turned his back on him and walked into another, narrower, more quiet street. Enjolras felt as if he was following him. He felt like a stray dog chasing his owner. He didn’t like this comparison. The more they were silent, the more he was afraid to say anything and think about anything. But his inner voice was inconsolable. Why did it suddenly scream so loud?

Grantaire was right. It was one of the largest and steepest hills he ever climbed. In some places it was not so steep, but all the more lengthy. If his legs hadn’t hurt before, now they were. Halfway, he wanted to ask Grantaire to return to town. Sometimes he had stupid ideas. “Almost there,” Grantaire said several times. This was able to pour new energy into Enjolras's veins. He gritted his teeth and followed him.

After thirty minutes of feeling like his heart would pop out of his chest; they reached the very top of the hill. A few steps from the edge of the rock was a bench. Someone seemed to clean it regularly. Grantaire immediately sat down on it. Enjolras had no idea why he was glad that Grantaire hadn’t decided to walk to the edge of the rock and look down. Why had he suddenly been so worried about him?

He sat down beside him. He took the backpack off his back and took out the water. At first he handed it to Grantaire, but with a gesture he refused. There were a few drops of sweat on his forehead, his cheeks a little red and his chest was rising faster; but otherwise, he looked pretty normal. Almost as if he had just walked a few steps. But Enjolras knew he didn’t look very good. Every time his heart pounded fast, whether he was performing publicly; or from a school where he tapped his feet nervously in front of the rehearsal room; or just from a movie he was afraid of; his cheeks flushed, forehead, neck, and chest too. He looked as if he had rash. Joly always avoided him and tried to examine him. As if it didn’t was embarrassed by this already.

They sat there for about ten minutes, their hearts calming, and they both watched the sun set slowly. But the sky was still bright blue. There was enough time to get dark and they would have to set off on their last train to Paris. Enjolras opened his backpack, pulled out two chocolate biscuits and handed one to Grantaire. "”hat? You have sweet with you and you don’t tell me anything? Me?” He sincerely smiled and took the biscuit from him. Enjolras was glad to see his smile. He felt a little lighter. A small piece broke off the stone on his chest. The black hair smiled at chocolate, not at him, but it was a progress. At least for today.

Grantaire immediately began to crack the biscuit, and in a moment he had half in him. Enjolras just bit a bit. He wasn’t hungry, but he needed something to think about. The food had prevented him from saying something stupid for a moment.

When Grantaire finished his meal and put the cover in his pocket, Enjolras asked him again, “Is something wrong?”

Grantaire looked at him and frowned a little. “What?”

“You're a silent today.” Yes, it was a better option from the sentence: _“Your silence scares me. You look sad. I don’t know what’s going on and it scares me. Mentally and physically. I feel like your eyes chokes me. Why are they so dark today? How come they doesn’t light? Why do I feel that all the luster has been lost? Why do I want to embrace you and want to explain to you all the mysteries of the universe?”_ He had no idea where so much poetism had come from. But he was determined not to say that.

“I don't always have anything to say, Apollo.” Nickname. Good. So it probably won’t be that serious.

“You always have something to say.”

“Yeah, that's right. I guess you know me better than myself.” Bitterness. Bad. That sounds serious. Enjolras was already inhaling that he would say something, but Grantaire overtook him, “Sorry,” he said quietly, almost as if afraid to say the word. “Sorry,” he repeated a little louder. But it didn’t sound confident. “Today, it's… shit,” he said honestly, rubbing his black scalp with his hand. “Everything is shit. Today.” He repeated. He pulled a small case out of his pocket. He had a pair of pencils in it, small, already used a lot, some with grooves from his fingernails. He buried it and took out a bunch of two keys. One was long, golden; second tiny, silver; they were held by a black strap. Enjolras looked at them, then looked at Grantaire, who also looked at them. “Keys to my apartment.” He looked at Enjolras. “For Montparnasse. I wanted to give it to him. So we can live together. At mine. Today is our anniversary. _Was.”_ With that he hid the keys back in the pocket of his lightweight spring jacket.

Oh. That’s why. Suddenly it all made sense. The silence, the look, the behavior. Grantaire was not only sad; he was _hurt._ Enjolras studied him for a moment. Grantaire stared ahead at the setting sun. He rubbed his hands. His thoughts seemed to scream at him as much as his. “Why do you carry them?”

“To speak true — I forgot them. I hide them there. Maybe after Christmas. I totally forget it. After months without him…” He paused. “I found them yesterday. When I painted that girl.”

“Damn,” Enjolras said suddenly. Grantaire looked at him curiously. “I… I put them there—”

“You couldn't have guessed Apollo,” Grantaire said with a slight smile. “I'm glad you didn't dig through those things. Even though it’s still rude enough to break into his trunk.”

“I apologized for that already.” Enjolras bought Grantaire’s favorite red wine.

“And I thank you for that again,” Grantaire said sincerely, remembering that after Enjolras had fallen asleep, he hid with a bottle in the bathroom. He turned on the water in the shower, sat on the toilet seat, and drank the whole bottle within half an hour. He felt bitterness in his mouth. He had no idea if it was of wine or tears that spontaneously ran down his face. When he finished drinking, he turned off the water (he regretted Valjean for how much he would have to pay for water for their week stay), and he went to the garbage can in front of the house that night. Enjolras noticed in the morning that the bottle was missing. But he said nothing. Grantaire was grateful for that.

“What was it like?”

“What do you think?”

“Dating with Montparnasse?”

This surprised Grantaire. Enjolras looked at him with a look he didn’t know. It was neither contempt nor regret. Curiosity maybe? He shook his head. He didn’t want to fool himself. Enjolras wasn’t for such a shallow conversation. Surely he was doing it out of pity. Would he be interested in him like that? “You don't have to discuss it with me, Apollo, that’s what therapies are for, and yes, so I promise you that when we get back to London, I’ll get some. I don’t promise a date, a time, or a year, but for sure.” He tried to laugh. Instinctively he reached into his trouser pocket. He sighed softly. He forgot to buy cigarettes.

“That's not what I meant,” Enjolras said in his defense. “You don’t have to talk about it.”

“Sure, who cares, right?” Grantaire asked snidely, adding quickly, “I’m really sorry, I’m terrible about this. When I’m in a bad mood, I’m in really _bad state_.” 

They fell into silent again. Enjolras listened for a while to the birds singing on the branch across from them. He watched as they sang, then ruffled each other’s feathers. One was dark blue, the other light yellow. He looked at the sun in front of them. It was getting a wonderful light orange color. “I was on the Ferris wheel three years ago,” Enjolras began, taking a deep breath. He had to say it. If he wants to know something about Grantaire’s life, he must start by himself. “It was a date. His name was George.”

Grantaire turned sharply to Enjolras. “What?” He asked in surprise, and Enjolras just smiled but didn’t look at him. “You were... at.... three… _what_?” He repeated in surprise.

Enjolras sighed in amusement. He started rubbing his hands. He never talked about his private life. But now he knew he had to. “Five years ago, I started to go to school for a discussion group, four years ago I became chairman, three and a half years ago George joined it, and three years ago he invited me on a date to the amusement park.”

“What?!” Grantaire repeated loudly. “You… you _date_?”

Enjolras felt a drum burst from his loud screaming. “Yes, Grantaire, I _date_.”

“Maybe - maybe - maybe - like _really_?" Enjolras just nodded. “Why don't I know about it?”

“I'm not talking about that much.” Enjolras frowned. “Probably not at all.“

“Probably not at all? Like - like with nobody?”

“Why should I? I don’t have a boyfriend now.”

“But you're _dating_!” Grantaire repeated in surprise. “Not even Combeferre - (Enjolras shook his head) - Courfeyrac? - (Enjolras shook his head) - Feuilly ?! - (Enjolras shook his head) - Nobody? (Enjolras nodded) - Really? Like, what? Like, I'm honored you tell me, but why all of a sudden? Jesus, how am I supposed to respond to that, we all think you will die like a virgin! Damn, I bet a hundred euros to that!”

“So you've lost them a long time ago.”

“What do - Oh. My. _God_ .” Grantaire’s eyes widened. “Please don’t tell me you’re trying to tell me now that you have... that you have... that you have _sex._ ”

“Grantaire, if you don’t take it seriously, I'll leave.” His voice was warning enough to make Grantaire alert. “I want to hear about you. I want to hear about what you went through. Not only with Montparnasse. But with everyone. I want to know why, on the one hand, you admire love and on the other hand you blame it. Same with marriage. The same with love for the rest of life.” Grantaire winced a little. He didn't expect that. “And if the only reason to get you to talk is say something from my own life, I find it fair. But only if you want to.”

“Of course I want,” Grantaire said vigorously. “Just, you just - you see - it _surprised_ me.”

“I understand. But if you gonna act like teenager, I will stop.”

“I don't want to promise you, you know who I am.”

“I know,” Enjolras said, smiling at him. “But—”

“Apollo, let's make a deal, okay? You will tell me about yourself, I will listen, maybe I will occasionally make an awkward comment, but that's me. And then I will start. Even about - about - about Montparnasse. Deal?”

“Agreed,” Enjolras said immediately, looking back at the sunset. “Should I continue or do you want me to start from the beginning?”

“This wasn't - Oh. My. God! - no one will believe me this - no, don't worry, I won't tell anyone. Please start from the beginning. And if you want to tell details, you can.”

“That's not necessary.”

“I had to listen to your two-hour monologue on tax cuts; I can bear this.”

But why did Enjolras feel that there were things he couldn't tell him? He had no one to talk about it. Combeferre was like a brother to him, but they were so strongly connected to each other that he sometimes felt that his care was choking him. He needed at least some secret he don't know. Courfeyrac had been his friend for longer time than Combeferre, but he knew how big thing his younger friend would have made it from it. He would never shut up again and ask him all the details of his most intimate life. He wasn't ready for that, and he wasn't really sure he would ever be. Feuilly was someone he felt safe with, and actually as good as anybody else. But he felt he wasn't the one he should accept his past. He knew he felt something about Grantaire. He wasn't going to name the feep, nor deny it. But what tied him to Feuilly almost frightened him. He knew he could never lose hin. He felt that if he tell him more about himself, something between them would be destroyed. The others were his friends, very close and loved with all his heart, but they didn't seems like people who wanted to hear about his love life. So he was silent. He spoke of his love life as a voluntary celibacy. Everyone accepted it.

“All right,” he told himself to stop the flow of his thoughts. “When I was eleven, I kissed a girl for the first time. I don't even know her name anymore. It was the typical first kiss. I didn't like it.” Grantaire chuckled. “The second time I kissed a girl I was in high school, a freshman year. I was fifteen. She was from other freshman class. I don't know why we kissed then. I think she liked me. I didn't liked her, but when she leaned toward me, I let her to kiss me. Surprisingly, I didn't like that either. But then Alan came.” Enjolras smiled at the memory. “The son of our literature professor. Sometimes he went on trips with us. He was interested in history and had a crazy passion for trains. He talked about them almost always. One day we just went to the train museum with class, Alan went with us. Somehow we started having fun, I don't know how, we just sat down and talked all along. About trains. The machines I know absolutely nothing about. I watched him talking about what he loved, and thought about it - _Damn, the boy has beautiful lips_. ”

“Gay,” Grantaire laughed.

“Surprisingly,” Enjolras laughed too. “After the trip, we went back to school and a boy from us, a class fool, had a 17th birthday party. We were all invited, and because everyone liked Alan, he invited him too. I originally didn't want to go there, but when Alan agreed, I went too. I felt like a stalker. I sat at the bar, holding beer for about an hour, warm and with no foam. I kept looking for him with my eyes. I didn't talk to almost anyone. But when I saw him - the world stopped. Sounds like a cliché. But I really had the feeling that I could only see him and that everything around had stopped existing. Well, you probably know very well how it looks at student, underage party. Everyone drank, smoked marijuana, vomited in sinks and danced on tables, undressed… I didn't like it and I wanted to go home. But Alan stopped me at the door and asked me - _Where are you going? -_ and I forgot. I really, at the age of sixteen, after a primitive question from a boy I didn't really know, I forgot what I was doing. He offered to accompany me to the bus stop and wait for the bus with me. We talked, but after a while he asked me - _Why don't you have a girlfriend yet?_ \- and I answered truthfully - _Because I don't care about girls_. I think he realized it fast enough because he leaned in and kissed me right away.”

Grantaire looked at Enjolras for a moment, then said, “Just kissed?”

“Just kissed,” he replied, looking at Grantaire. “We only kissed for a few minutes. Then the bus came and I drove home, he went back to the party.”

“So he was your first boyfriend?”

“No,” Enjolras said, grinning as Grantaire raised an eyebrow. “Then he got together with the sister of the class bastard. Then they went on trips together. We never kissed again and actually didn't talk about it. I don't know if he was ashamed of what happened between us, even though it was just innocent experimentation; but he didn't even talk to me anymore. When he stopped to coming to trips with us, because he moved to another city to work, I didn't even notice it.”

“Asshole.”

“No, he was nice.”

“Asshole.”

“All right,” Enjolras laughed. “I didn't have my first boyfriend until I graduated. We met while I was working as a waiter in a cafe.”

“What?!” Grantaire cried again, and Enjolras sighed aloud. “Sorry, but - waiter? How come you don't do it in Musain? Do you know how we would save money on booze?”

“Hardly. You can drink the whole bar. ”

“Isn't that a priority?”

“Only when you pay.”

“Mrs. Houchelop has never complained when, sometimes, well, we delay paying.”

“And did you ever think why?” Enjolras asked, smiling heartily. “Do you think she would just let us talk and drink the bar if she didn't get anything out of it?”

“Are you fucking with her?” Enjolras almost choked on his own saliva. He laughed right away. “I'm sorry, but I'm so confused right now about this, everything, you know.”

“Mrs. Houchelop is a very nice lady, but I take her only as a lady who helps me to have a place for our club.”

“Great that we made it clear.”

“So, where am I — yes, _Oliver_. I worked regularly after school on Tuesdays and Thursdays and all day on Sundays. I don't even remember when we saw each other for the first time. I don't think I was interested in him at the beginning. At that time, I was thinking about what I would do after school, I started to invent the first concept of Les Ámis and my grandmother got sick. My thoughts were somewhere else. So the boy who went every Sunday morning for coffee with cinnamon and before the closing for cake remnants; completely evaporated from my head. Then the holidays came and I got sick, I lay at home with the flu for three weeks. When I got back to work, one of the workers told me there was a boy asking about me. She said he went there every morning and evening every day. Sometimes he didn't even order anything and left.”

“That's cute, your first admirer. Public one, at least. I believe you had a pile of them, and you don't even knew about it.”

“But I never wanted that. It always seemed strange to me. When I was a focus for someone. Talking in front of a group of people? Motivate them? To ignite the fire inside them? Seamlessly. But personal admiration? I've always been a little afraid of it. People sometimes have quite a distorted opinion of me. Mainly about _real_ me. Frankly, it bothers me that people only see a pretty face on me.”

“That's not true,” Grantaira said quietly, moving a little closer to Enjolras. “You're much more.”

“I know,” Enjolras said, trying to smile. Grantaire felt it was something that Enjolras wasn't ready to talk about. “When I started my first shift in the new year, he appeared between the doors and - now I can swear to you - he stopped working. Between the doors. He stood there, looking at me, mouth open.” Enjolras laughed at the memory. He still saw it in front of him. Enjolras thought he would never love anyone. But the moment he saw Oliver standing there, he had put together all the visits to the average café; he said he could try it someday. Perhaps, now, in this place, at this time, he has the opportunity to know what love is. Everyone spoke of it in superlatives. He wanted to know it, know what it feels like. Feels like everyone else, _feels normal_.

Grantaire stared at Enjolras's face for a moment. His cheeks were pink, his eyes staring in front of him as if he were seeing someone, but the look was dreamy. That's how he thought of his first boyfriend. That's how he thought about his first love. He remembered him with a smile, pink cute cheeks. He felt he saw another man. Where was the boy who couldn't congrats Bossuet to having his first niece? Where was the boy who couldn't tell if Bahorel was angry or sad? Where was the boy who never showed that he understood Grantaire's interest?

_He understand. He just don't like you._

“Shit,” Grantaire whispered to himself. But Enjolras heard it. He turned to him, his dreamy look gone, his face returned to normal color. He blinked a few times. “Shit, I'm sorry, I just remembered, you know, my first love. I'm not going to talk that much about him, because... I will… I will… go ahead, please.”

“Sure,” Enjolras said, taking a breath. “I'll have to shorten it, or we'll be here for a long time.” He smiled, but Grantaire didn't return it. Is it possible that he was bored with this whole story? He swallowed dry. He needed to do it. It was the only way to get Grantaire to talk. “As soon as he woke up from the shock, he walked over to me, ordered and left. As always. He was there again in the evening, taking his typical order and I expected him to leave. When he asked me - _Had your shift ended already?_ \- I was taken aback, but I actually said - _Yes_. He offered to accompany me to the subway station. I agreed. He was silent, eating cookies, and in the meantime I cleaned up the café. We walked slowly, but even so the road was pretty short. Only when we said goodbyes, he told me his name - Oliver.”

“Yuck.”

“What?”

“I never liked the name. _Oliver_.”

“You have an opinion on anything.”

“That's my magic, Apollo.”

Enjolras just shook his head. “One month pass, he always accompanying me to the subway after my shift. He didn't try anything. Actually, it was me who suggested one day, instead of going to the subway, walk to the end of the street to the bus. He rode the same route, so we could talk a little longer. After some time we exchanged contact and then… ” Enjolras paused. Should he continue?

“And then…?”

“We started dating.” He paused again.

Grantaire frowned. “Something wrong?” Enjolras looked at him. He saw sadness in his eyes. “E—”

“It's been a long time,” Enjolras said, moistening his lips with his tongue. “He didn't hurt me,” he said as soon as he saw Grantaire frown. He always thought of the worst. “At least not physically. He was always nice. Actually, it worked out pretty well.”

“Pretty well?”

“A lot.”

“Long?”

“A year and a half.”

Grantaire whistled in appreciation. “How come I know about him just now? Or the boys?”

“I never thought you'd be interested in my love past. Your or our friends. You always talk about who you are, who you are dating, who you are sleeping with. I've never had anything add to it, actually I haven't had anybody since my second year at university.” It was three years. Enjolras hadn't had anyone in three years. Grantaire counted it in his head, despite his dislike for the maths. To his circumstances, too fast.

“Why did you break up?” Grantaire asked. Curiosity almost devoured him. And jealousy. It sat on his chest and pressed his heart. He was glad Enjolras trusted him, but he had no idea it would have such an effect on him. Can he simply not wish him that? Being happy for him?

Enjolras's gaze focused on the bench. He examined the dark paint and the dust that had settled on it. “Oliver was three years older than me. He studied history. We still had something to talk about. After a year of being together, I met his parents. They knew he was gay, but they never really accepted it. They were still trying to get him together with some daughter of their friends. They were quite high in some sphere of historians, archaeologists, and philosophers. His father was ashamed of him, even though Oliver had always tried to say that it wasn't true.”

“I guess your meeting didn't turn out right.”

“No,” Enjolras agreed, and looked at Grantaire again. Grantaire felt his whole body covered in goose bumps. His eyes were terribly cold. Full of pain and - perhaps betrayal? “I'll cut it short,” he said finally, trying to smile again. “Then we met secretly for a while, just in my home, nobody knew about us. My parents always told me he came and they left us alone. I wonder sometimes how they— ” Enjolras made a sound that Grantaire couldn't identify.

“They?” Enjolras still said nothing. “What, you were afraid that—Oh, my God, you fucked him.” Grantaire covered his mouth in surprise and giggled. “ _Fuck me_.”

“Grantaire, shut up,” Enjolras said a little more roughly than he intended. He was ashamed. Not for what he was doing, but how easily this comment was able to influence him. How could Grantaire say _that_ ? What they were doing wasn't _fucking_ but _love making_ . Real, fervent, _loving_ . He frowned. “Never say that again.” Before Grantaire could say anything, Enjolras continued, “Then suddenly he stopped coming to me, after some time he stopped communicating with me, he didn't went to a cafe, he ceased to exist. At least for me. After three months, when I honestly didn't even hope to hear from him; I got a wedding invitation. To his wedding. _His wedding_ ,” Enjolras repeated through his teeth. “I didn't go there, of course. Actually, I feel he didn't even send it to me. But someone from his family. To let me know he had _recovered from the disease_ , they called our love like this. I had to talk to him, so I called him. He picked it up almost immediately, we were silent for a while, then we both cried. It was the last time we called each other. I don't even know who was his wife, I haven't heard the name in my life before, and by his sobs, I don't think he really knew her.” He looked at Grantaire, who had strangely wet eyes. He smiled. “Were you impressed?”

“Yes, but because how _fucked up_ this story was," Grantaire said, and spat. “That man was simply a son of—”

“Don't try to insult him,” Enjolras said sternly, and Grantaire fell silent. “Whatever happened, it was the best relationship I've ever had in my life. I couldn't wished for better partner.” _I couldn't wished for better partner._ Why did the words hurt so much? Will anyone even be as good for Enjolras as Oliver? “I know he wasn't happy. And it always hurt me. I want to think he get divorced, ran away and lives with someone he loves deeply now.” Enjolras sighed aloud and shrugged. “And then there's not much to talk about. I had the same political opinion at the end of freshman year with George, a nice boy, a classmate, and after three months it ended because I couldn't have had anything with him. And at the beginning of sophomore Henry.” Grantaire winced. It sounded like Montparnasse's name - _Henri_. “He was five years older, made a living as a journalist, loved art and was very extroverted. I think if we stayed together for more than two months, he would have gotten along with Courfeyrac. Actually, they were quite similar. That scares me.” They both laughed. “But we didn't have much time for each other, and again, like George, I couldn't…” He didn't finish, but it was clear to both of them. “So,” he said, looking back at the setting sun. The sky was already dark orange. He spoke much longer than he thought. “Now you.”

“Nope! What about George and Henry? You missed them completely.”

“I said the most important things.”

“But that's not enough.”

“It must, because honestly, I don't remember much. I don't lie, it's true.” Enjolras looked almost guilty. “At that time, I had led the Les Ámis. There was not much time for romance. Unless something really important happened, like George set on fire the curtains in my aunt's living room, and Henry once threw up a highly prized painting by an avangart artist; actually there's not much to talk about. I don't remember.”

“And Oliver?” Enjolras frowned. “Do you remember everything?”

“Grantaire, I've already told you everything important. Let's talk about you now.”

Grantaire suspected that Enjolras would no longer continue. But if he talks about himself, he might be able to get a few more details out of him. “Well, if you want to start from the beginning, be prepared that we wouldn't even have three weeks to do this, okay?” Enjolras raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “Look, don't look at me like that. I'm serious. Therefore, it is better to shorten it a bit.”

“I didn't cut mine.”

“What about the last two? They dated with a God, and you don't even remember them.”

“Gr—”

“I know, I know, _don't speak of me as a God_ , I've heard it a million times.” He straightened up, taking another deep breath. “I have to say it shortly, so listen clearly and well, because I won't repeat it.” Enjolras nodded and leaned back on the bench. He didn't want to admit it, but he felt almost excited to know something about Grantaire. He knew the feeling, but he never felt it thank the brunette. “I found about sex very early, I was actually a little kid who liked to explore things that were banned. Guess? You don't have to. I got into my dad's computer, I found porn there, and - big shock! - it affected me. But only a little. I went out with Valeria, she was the prettiest girl in the neighborhoods. We were six and we went to play together in the park, we climbed a lot of trees, and I suggested we can hang upside down for a while.”

“Oh God,” Enjolras whispered, sighing. “You wanted to look at her panties.”

“They were pink with blue pandas. Since when are the pandas blue?” Grantaire shook his head. “Well, then it went on. Like, don't worry, no terrible show of child trauma. I just told her a week later if I could kiss her. And since I was the only usable guy in the street by far, don't be surprised, there weren't better choice for her; she said yes. And I put my tongue down her throat.” Enjolras made a disgusted sound. “I guess you know I never went to play with her alone again, and she didn't want to see me for a some weeks. When she saw me, she cried and whenever we went out, she always made sure - _But you don't put that slug in my mouth again_. She was a vigorous woman, I love that.” Grantaire laughed at Enjolras's expression. “You did it voluntarily,” he reminded him why he was telling him all this.

“I know,” Enjolras said. 

“Then the school came. Well, you know, I wasn't popular with classmates or teachers, so pretty terror. My dad made me go to piano lessons and I didn't learn anything. Then for violin lessons, I couldn't do that either. He even pitied me and sent me to the guitar! Well, nothing. But again, because of that, I was often in the musical hobby school and know what is there? Dance lessons. From ballet to streetdance. I looked at all the girls through the glass door and drooled over them.”

“You were _six_ ,” Enjolras reminded him in disbelief.

“I've grown a little faster,” Grantaire shrugged, and went on. “I was too young for that and my fantasy was pretty bad. But I wanted to kiss them. Often and a lot. I didn't succeed until seven when a new girl came to the ballet. Margaret. Now I would tell you she was cute, she had those long, black, curly hair and crooked teeth, but she seemed like a goddess to me back then. Moreover, she was a year older, so a clear win. I think she had pittied me because I followed her for half a year. But it was worth the kiss.”

“I'll say it again - Oh God.”

“What's the matter?”

“You were... You were still _a child_.”

“How many children are watching porn regularly from the age of seven? I'd say hundreds.”

“But it's terrible, _scary_ ,” Enjolras pointed out what he meant. “The idea that someday my daughter or son will know what sex is, but will not even know what _love_ and _love making_ are; it scares me a bit.”

“I expected you to say something in the sense that unless they knew the basics of the constitution, you wouldn't even let them use the computer.”

“That would follow.”

“Sure.” They both laughed. “But no, seriously, do you mind?”

“On the one hand - yes, because I find it very soon. You shouldn't be interested in girls at this age. Or boys. Or anyone who will attract you in the future.” Enjolras looked at Grantaire and smiled slightly at him. “On the other hand - no. Because it's your life and I want to know—”— _everything—_ “what you will allow me.”

“Well, I'm not going too much into details. And before you start to protest, because it is your habit; so let me remind you how little I learned about the two boys on college and you weren't too detailed at first love, either.” Grantaire continued: “Then rumors spread, and now I will probably disgust you again, but they said _I have lips made of velvet and I taste like strawberries with cola_. And no, these are autentic quotes, not fictions. I kissed every girl there. Every. Maybe if I stayed on lessons to puberty I would bet the dance tutor would kiss me too.” He paused for a moment, moving his fingers for a moment as if counting something. “So, about twenty girls.”

“Child Casanova,” Enjolras said mockingly.

Grantaire stuck his tongue at him. “You're just envious.” He raised his chin proudly and continued, “When I was ten, I stayed up a bit longer than I should. Do you know it. Rebelling for parental rules about when to go to bed. And I saw Brokeback Mountain. I hope you didn't miss such a good movie.”

“I watched it,” Enjolras admitted.

“When we finish this talk, I want to know your opinion, because I think it's an epic acting skill of both Ledger and Gyllenhall. Well, anyway - when the two of them started to kissing for the first time, I... had... like... you know, tickling in my lower abdomen and my heart pounded. I used to think I might be sick or dislike it, but man, I was _so_ wrong. Within a year I gave my first kiss to a boy, a class nerd, and a prince Jack - which, given the film that led me to it, is ironic - and it was the best I've ever experienced. Even though he had braces and his hair smelled strangely of vinegar, it was still the best I've ever had. So I started experimenting.” Grantaire noticed Enjolras's disgust. “What now?”

“You were _ten_ ,” he muttered.

“Eleven,” Grantaire corrected. “But I didn't start the experiments until twelve.”

“That's much better.”

“Look, let me finish,” the brunette admonished, and Enjolras indicated that he would be silent. “So I was dating girls at twelve. Emily from the class, Claire from the next class, and when I was in Last year in middle school, I dated Alice from our street. I went to Paris with my parents because, when two argue and hate each other, the only way to savé bad relationship is to go to their home country with their unloved son. And here I was doing stupid things. Every visit I found someone else. Like - another boy. So, before I went to high school, I kissed… ” He paused again, bit his lip, and counted quietly. “… Eight boys.” Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “And I have to tell you that according to Marc, I was really good.”

“You were ele—”

“From twelve to fourteen, it's not that bad,” Grantaire said, rolling his eyes. “Of course I just went out with the girls, I gave them a kiss sometimes, we kissed deeply sometimes, but that was everything. The same with guys.”

“Do you remember their names?” Enjolras asked curiously.

“André, Clause, Gerard, Julien, Robert, David, Joseph, and Marc.”

“Wow,” Enjolras said in surprise.

Grantaire just laughed. “I was inspired by the great authors, so I wanted to remember everyone and I wrote down their names in a small notebook. I'm glad I lost it on high school. I was friend with the boys. They were from the same street where I went to tutor to learn French.” Grantaire paused for a moment, and when he saw Enjolras listening to him with interest, he added, “I was still quite small, so don’t expect me to tell you now, what their family tree was and what they dreamed of. We didn’t have time for that. Enjolras grunted in displeasure. “André was the first boy I ever gave a _real_ kiss. His dad known mine, so we spent a lot of time together. Once our parents let us go to Paris alone. Two little, eleven-year-old boys kicking the ball in the aisles. What bad can happen? We get lost. And I used to be crybaby, so after almost three hours of walking thru Paris, I sit on my ass and started crying. André tried to calm me down, without success, so he gave me a kiss. Nice with the tongue so I don't forget it. Then he took my hand and somehow we found our way back. We were in the house before ten and the parents were almost death thank to us, but we were alive. When André and I wished each other goodnight, I asked him if I could kiss him again.He agreed. So then we had our kisses every morning and every night. Does it still sound so bad?”

“This was... almost cute,” Enjolras said with a small pause before finding the appropriate word to describe it. He imagined in his head a small, chubby Grantaire crying under a tree, and a cute little boy with devils in his eyes leaned over to kiss him. Actually, it sounded quite innocent.

“And then the boys joined. French boys are different. They normally kiss each other on cheeks at greetings or do they for the closest ones. Maybe they kiss each other in private on mouth and so on. We did that. Or I stumbled upon a bunch of future rapist, I don’t know. André introduced to me to his football team. I remember mainly the last one - Marc - he was two years older than us, he was already in some classy city football team and had a nice body. For sixteen boy at least. He liked to walk around without a shirt. So I was drooling over him. The last time I saw him before he moved to Spain with family, we were sitting outside, the sun was setting, we were soaked in our sweats from football game and he asked me - _I see how you looking at me, are you into guys?_ \- and I answered truthfully - _I don't know_ . At fourteen, I had no idea that there was something like bisexuality. My parents didn’t talk about anything about relationship or sexuality, actually everything I learned about families and relationships, I learned on my own. And you see the results.” He sighed. “Well, he gave me a kiss and asked again - _And now you are?_ \- and I said again - _I don't know._ This was how it worked for a while, we kissed about a good hour. I owe him a little for learning to kiss so well. He was a good teacher.”

“He took advantage of your vulnerability and innocence,” Enjolras said with a hoarse voice.

Grantaire looked at him and laughed when he saw the blond boy frown. “Jesus, Apollo, you don't have to make a case of it right away.” Enjolras wrinkled his nose and Grantaire laughed again. “I liked it. Thanks to him I realized there was nothing wrong with liking girls and boys.” He shrugged. “And then I went to high school, discovered alcohol and went head-to-head in shits. I’m going to spare you how much fucked my life is, believe me, I’m actually quite surprised that I had someone. I lost my virginity at sixteen with a girl on a school party. We slept together in her parents’ bed, we didn’t even take off our clothes, I just pulled off from pants and she took off her panties. I remember she was wearing a floral skirt. I can’t even recall her face, but I still see the horrible skirt in front of me. I was tipsy, she was too; I was a virgin, she wasn’t, so I think if she regretted it at morning, not because it was her first time. You know, some people find it oddly important. When I was eighteen I was fucked by a boy for the fir—”

“Do you think it’s important to be so detailed?”

“Apollo, are you blushing?” Grantaire asked grimly as he noticed his pink cheeks. Enjolras frowned instead of answering. “Okay. I’ll spare you. What a pity though, you could learn something of my qualities. In short - I don’t know how many people I was. Sad right? Not knowing how many people I was exchanging bodily fluids.” Grantaire tried not to think about how often his mind bothered him about it. He never considered sex to be something exclusive that must only be performed with a beloved partner. He liked sex, enjoyed it and didn’t care who he was with. But he felt a strange feeling every time he woke up in a stranger’s bed, left a stranger's apartment, or escorted someone from his apartment. The feeling was like hard punches around his heart, tied tongue, tickling in body, squeezing his stomach. As if suddenly all this excitement, desire, satisfaction; erased and only remained - what actually? “Well, I dated Frederic in college for a while.”

“I remember him,” Enjolras said suddenly, remembering a tall, brown-haired boy who had so white skin that it was almost translucent. He had circles under his eyes, didn’t talk much, and still tapped his right foot.

“I’m surprised you remember,”Grantaire said honestly. “I feel like we broke up... about a month since I started going to our group.” Enjolras just nodded. “He was fine, yeah. But we both had a little problem with a certain thing.” He put his thumb to his mouth and indicated as if he were drinking. Enjolras nodded again. “I don't even know where he is now, I feel like I saw him the last time he went to the rehab. Which is about five years back.” Enjolras swallowed the question - _and why didn't you go with him then?_ \- and nodded for the third time.

Grantaire moistened his lips. He was silent for a moment, and finally looked at the horizon ahead. The sun had not set yet. He didn't talk as long as he thought. He should not obey Enjolras’ wish to leave out the details. If he was outraged at Marc’s actions, he could spare himself the narration that followed. “I don't know how to start,” he said quietly, as if afraid of being reprimanded for it. “Then I had a lot of boys and girls, just for one night, for a few nights, sometimes for a month, but they weren’t relationships. I only had that after I… I…”

“You dated Montparnasse.” How was it so easy for him to say his name?

“Yes,” Grantaire breathed.

“Do you think this could help?” Enjolras opened his backpack and pulled out a red M&M chocolate packet.

“Yes!” He shouted, and quickly took the package from Enjolras. “How could you keep them from me?”

“I kept them in case of emergency.” Grantaire opened the package and immediately put a few balls in his mouth. “So - Montparnasse?”

Grantaire just nodded. “Do you really want to hear about it?”

“Yes.”

“It’s long.”

“Surely we still have enough time.”

“Sometimes you are really pushy, you know?”

“I think you've already mentioned.”

“Well, I met Montparnasse by accident. I needed new model for anatomy lesson. We were supposed to submit an image within two weeks. I guess I could ask someone from the group, but that would be weird.” He had seen his friends naked, but Enjolras was the only one he really wanted to draw. And he couldn’t ask that. Just _couldn’t_ . It was enough for him to stand close to him and his heart pounded. The idea of standing naked in front of a bunk almost cost him a cardiac arrest. “So I wandered the streets, searching for a model about the last three days, and suddenly I met him. In park. He argued with the cop. Which was supposed to tell me he wasn’t a good choice, but you know - I'm a lost case.” He chuckled. “I never thought about what he did. All I could see was his gorgeous, black hair, big blue eyes, his red cheeks from excitement. He looked ethereal. Which I could only say about two people in my life at the time.” _Mother. Enjolras. Montparnasse._ “I don't know what I was thinking, but I walked up to them and asked - _Any problem, love?_ \- Now, back, it was a terrible bullshit. But he joined it right away. He hugged me around waist, pressed against me, and told the cop in the face without a problem - _This asshole is trying to sew me some fucking theft_ \- Wonderful first words, don't you think? It turned out that some mum from the playground accused him of trying to steal some toys from her kid. Of course it was bullshit. So the cop got out, mom and kid too, once they were far enough, he let me go and said - _Thanks_. He smiled at me with the most sincere smile, I guess… I guess it's not like I fell in love at first sight, I'm not Marius, but it was close. Pretty close. And since I've felt it before, I was pretty scared.”

“Felt it?” Enjolras asked. “You were in love with som—”

“Shh, don't interrupt my tragic love story!” Grantaire said that only because he knew the question. He really had no idea how to said his first love was E— _enough, focus_ . “So I thought right away - _Look, when I saved your throat, could you do me a favor?_ \- Well, the word gave the word and he was modeling for me that evening. I finished the painting quite quickly, so we sat down on the balcony together, having wine and a joint. It turned out that Montparnasse was indeed stealing something that day, but from the mother. He knew her very well and knew what she was hiding drugs in her purse.”

“He’s a thief,” Enjolras said. His voice didn’t sound surprised.

“Before,” Grantaire tried to defend him. “We exchanged contact, wrote each other almost everyday, met each other occasionally, and then we started dating. It must have come from the situation.” _After we had sex, there was no way back._ “Then we were together.” What to say next about them? Perhaps how they began to argue right away? Or how they had different views on everything? Or was he supposed to describe to him the perfect parties and dancing hours where they still laughed so stupidly? Or tell how much they were close in bed and Grantaire thinked that Montparnasse could save him from his own heart? Should he admit to him that he had been blind for a year and a half before what had long been clear? “We didn't have much in common. Actually, I'm surprised we were able to talk about something.”

“Then why were you together?”

“Saving each other.” Enjolras raised an eyebrow and Grantaire smiled sadly. “We both needed some rescue point. We were both screwed. With life. We didn’t know where to go. How to get out of all the shits we got into. It seemed like a good idea at the time.” He sighed. “But everything wasn’t terrible. Again, I am not such a masochist to be in bad relationship for so long.”

“What was good?”

“His cooking. Awesome cooking to be honest. Not even Musichetta has ability to make dish so perfect. He always knew where to go. Or who to go with. Or the weird one… how to say, we just walked on the street and always met someone you know? And he always introduced me - _Yeah, this is Grantaire, my boyfriend_ \- and he said it so genuinely, and sometimes it seemed he _really_ loves me.”

“You were looking up to him,” Enjolras said rather to himself.

“I rather enjoyed being somebody. I wasn't _just Grantaire_ , I was a _boyfriend Grantaire_. And that's just something… Thanks to him, I came back to dancing. And I didn't drink so much either.”

“I noticed that,” Enjolras smiled.

Grantaire tried to give him a smile. But what was it when he knew how bad he was again? How did he try to drink inconspicuously every night? How did his tongue itch whenever Enjolras asked him if he wanted something to drink? He felt embarrassed, humiliated, _disappointed_. “He rode horses,” he finally said. “You should have seen him, he was born for the saddle. Overall, he loved animals. You didn’t like him much, but you had something in common. He supported many of animal shelters and we took many dogs for walks. Almost every week.”

“It was mutual.”

“What?”

“We didn't like each other.” Before Grantaire could protest, Enjolras interrupted him, “And don't try to tell me that's not true.”

“I wanted to tell you that you were absolutely right. I've heard a thousand times about how he'd like to shave your head.” _Thirty-two times_. “You didn't hide it too much though. He liked Bossuet and Joly, a little Bahorel too, Courfeyrac is too much even for us sometimes, Combeferre and Jehan were too intellectual for him, and he overlooked Marius. Only hate remained, so it was for you,” Grantaire shrugged, trying to release the air that suddenly seemed a little heavier.

“I'm glad,” Enjolras said proudly.

“That someone didn't like you? You're weird.”

“Pretty exaggerated opinion from a boy who stayed with someone who beaten him, don’t you think?” As soon as Enjolras said it, he paused. He saw Grantaire's face turn white. His pupils widened a little and his hands twitched. As if he’d been hit by an electric shock. Enjolras knew immediately that he made a mistake. He didn’t mean to say that. He had never had a chance to talk to him about it, although he had tried it several times, but he never knew how to start. This was definitely not a good start. “Gra—”

“We're not here to judge, are we?” Grantaire asked, fingers in tight fists. They were shaking.

“Certainly not,” Enjolras said quickly. He could hear the sound in his voice. “Just… forgive me, but I never understood. Yes, Montparnasse might have been handsome and charismatic, and maybe he seemed like a good catch to someone; but it was clear from the first sight... that he wasn’t a good man, and not a fine partner at all. I, I don't want to underestimate your choice. I can’t and I don’t want to tell you who you should, or shouldn’t, love. In this case though... you're my friend. And since I first saw you in Musain with a bruise under eye, I knew you didn’t get hurt on your box lesson.” Grantaire's fists began to relax. “I never asked you and I'm sorry I pulled it out now, but I can’t keep quiet anymore.” He took a deep breath and asked, “Did he hurted you?”

Grantaire didn’t expect that direct question. He blinked in surprise. He had a question on his tongue - _You know that?_ \- but decided to swallow it. He lowered his gaze and looked at the edge of the bench for a moment, as if expecting to find the answer he was looking for. But it was clear. 

_Yes._

Grantaire chuckled. “Look at me. I’m not exactly a good catch either. After—"

“Enough,” Enjolras said, looking at the setting sun. He couldn’t look into Grantaire’s face. “I didn't ask that. And I don't want to hear anything like _I was responsible for it_ or _It was an accident._ ” Grantaire’s lips tightened. “You're a great guy, and you should finally realize it.” Enjolras felt his face turn red. But he didn’t know if because he remembered Grantaire’s bruises or shame of what he was saying. “We all love you. And you're important to us. You're our friend. You're _my friend_ ,” he repeated. “Perhaps I've told you quite a few times before.”

“Yeah, last Christmas…” Grantaire whispered, his mind plunging into memories.

They stayed alone in Musain before Christmas. Instead of embarrassing silence and early goodbyes, they talked into the night. The owner knew them and he let them stayed there after closing the café. They kept talking, calmly drinking the last remnants of coffee and champagne, and eating sandwiches. Actually, they didn’t talk about anything important. No _rights_ , no _revolution_ , no _republic_ , no _democracy_. Just a discussion of favorite series, movie buzz and experiences with other friends. They talked like friends who had known each other since birth. As they left, Enjolras offered to accompany him home. Grantaire lived only three blocks from Musain, but they get in front his apartment after a half hour. Every moment they stopped walking as they laughed or argued hotly over a new episode of sitcoms.

When they said their goodbyes, Grantaire for the first time felt an immense desire to kiss Enjolras. Since he’d been hanging out with Montparnasse, he had stifled those feelings he hadn’t even tried to name, hoping that his love for him, which had deepened every day, would eventually prevail, and he would see Enjolras only as his friend. But at that moment, after so many months of shouting and moaning another man’s name in bed, he just wanted to hug Enjolras, digging his fingers in his blond scalp and feeling against his dry, cracked lips, Enjolras’s - innocent, pink and definitely sweet .

But Enjolras was faster in saying goodbye, wishing him a good night and went to the other side to catch the last subway train. Grantaire quickly left for the apartment where Montparnasse was already waiting for him, and before he could say anything he was pushed to bed, naked. He tried to say that he had those red cheeks thank to winter weather; that his hands are trembling with thank the excitement receives from his boyfriend; that the face he sees behind his closed eyelids is with him.

Since then, Grantaire has not felt tolerated by Enjolras. He felt like his rightful friend. They greeted each other, occasionally having a conversation, and although they still couldn’t agree during the meetings, their discussions soon turned into an exchange of views of two stubborn heads; they got along. The world suddenly became much more bearable for him.

But the relationship with Montparnasse slowly began to crumble—

“Grantaire?” Grantaire shook his head quickly. He didn’t want to think about that. He looked at Enjolras, who looked at him with interest. “Did you hear me?”

“I was just thinking,” he said honestly.

“Okay.”

They looked at each other for a moment, and neither said anything. The air around them grew heavy, the sun was almost sunken, and the sky was dark blue. “We should go,” Grantaire finally said quietly. Enjolras just nodded.

Both were silent on the way to the station. When they got on the train, Grantaire fell asleep immediately. Enjolras noticed the circles under his eyes and the white skin. He may have laughed and seemed to be fine, but today has shown him that Grantaire has more pain in him than he expected. He knew he was disappointed in life, but now he seemed - _broken_. It scared Enjolras.

When they arrived, Enjolras woke Grantaire and they both went toward the subway. Grantaire tried to talk about everything he was thinking, but Enjolras was silent. He could see how he was trying to disguise how much everything hurt him.

“I'll go buy something,” Enjolras said as they reached Valjean’s apartment.

Grantaire examined him for a moment, then shrugged. “Sure,” he said, and went to the apartment.

Enjolras quickly walked out into the street, walked around the corner, picked up his cell phone, and quickly dialed his friend’s number. “Hi, I'm sorry to disturb you this late,” he said apologetically, waiting for response from the other side. “Yes, it's important, otherwise I wouldn’t call you.” A moment of silence. “I couldn’t write it, I need to know as soon as possible.” Again silence. “Thank you.” Enjolras took a deep breath. “I need your help, Joly. It’s about Grantaire.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the next chapter is here! It took longer than I expected. The reason was not only because I tried to put as much emotion into this chapter as possible (and I hope I did it well), but also because of my awkwardness, I fell down the stairs a week and a half ago unfortunately and I couldn't move for a while, so, no sitting before computer. But! I have good news for everyone reading this chaptered fanfic. As soon as I got better, I sat down and wrote and voila - I finished the story yesterday! Now I need to only translated it into English. I suppose I will publish the last chapter at the beginning of next week. You’re looking forward? 
> 
> PS: All sentences in italics = speaking in French.

“For God’s sake, can you turn it off?” Grantaire grumbled into his pillow as he was annoyed by the annoying ringtone on Enjolras’s cell phone.

“Sure,” Enjolras said quietly, turning off the alarm. After a moment it started ringing again. Enjolras whispered inaudibly, turned off the alarm, and rose to his feet. He immediately went into the bathroom and when Grantaire heard that he get into the shower, he just gumbled. He wanted to fall asleep again. Sleep peacefully all week. He wanted a drink. How much he wanted to drink at least two bottles! His tongue itched and his ears roared. He thought of a dream he could barely remember. But he still felt good about it. His fingers were tapping and there was warm feeling around his belly. He remembered only his hands - white, soft, with long fingers - stroking his hips. And his voice - whispered something in French - still in his ears. He knew whose hands and voice it was. He didn’t want to think why he felt so good, but if his head thinks it’s right to dream about  _ this person _ , why not enjoy a few more happy moments?

But when he heard Enjolras open the door and start making breakfast, he knew the dream wouldn’t come back. He rolled displeased at his back and looked at Enjolras, who was just preparing two hot teas. He usually had coffee. Grantaire frowned. Enjolras looked tired, had circles around his eyes, his eyes were a little red. He looked tired. “Hey, don't you want to give up on some travel today?” Enjolras looked at him and frowned. “You look like a train has run over you.”

“Do I look bad?” Enjolras asked.

Grantaire didn’t know whether to laugh at it or roll his eyes. “As if you could,” he whispered rather to himself, finally sitting down on his bed. “We walked quite a bit yesterday, one day without a trip won’t kill us.”

“We only have two days.”

“Three.”

“Two. On the third day we leave, we will have no time to go somewhere.”

“Detail.”

“We have only two days,” Enjolras repeated, handing Grantaire a cup of hot drink. “We should enjoyed them.”

“Rest is a good plan, too.” Grantaire couldn’t say - _ I feel terrible. Not physically, but mentally. After yesterday, I can’t think of anything but you. What you say to me. How beautiful you treated me. The way you talked about me. I don't know what to do with the heat I have around my heart every time I just look at you. I also think of Montparnasse, his words of love, and how he humiliated me. I'm thinking of what you told me about Oliver, and I can’t help of feeling that you never actually stopped loving him. It gets on my nerves. Being beside you is as hard as not being with you. But I need to rest. Break from you _ \- he knew Enjolras would understand. He wasn’t stupid. But he opened himself to him so much, that he regretted how much he said. He shouldn’t have been so honest. He should have kept some secrets. It hurt to see Enjolras’s troubled expression. Because of him. It was  _ humiliating _ . “I need to rest,” he said finally.

“We don't have to go far today,” Enjolras told him, and finished his breakfast quickly. He only took a few biscuits. Grantaire frowned again. Something didn’t suit him today. “Actually, I’ve been thinking about where we could go.”

“Yeah?” Grantaire asked in surprise, sipping from tea. “But I'm not really in the mood today,” he admitted.

“Because of… yesterday?”

“Don't talk about it,” Grantaire said more hard than he intended. He glanced quickly into the cup and act like he didn’t say anything.

“All right,” Enjolras said calmly, but if Grantaire touched his chest, he would find his heart missed a few beats. He could see Grantaire's sad eyes, looking as if he was still thinking about something. He wanted to make him smile for a moment. Truly, from the bottom of his heart. “But I think you might like today.”

“Where you want to go?” Grantaire asked, slightly annoyed.

“The Luxembourg Palace and gardens.” Grantaire looked at Enjolras. “What?”

“Another tourist spot,” Grantaire said bored, and got up from bed. He put the unfinished tea at the end of the kitchen table and shrugged. “When you enjoy it,” he said quietly before going to the bathroom so he could wash off a bit of the bad mood.

Enjolras stared at the closed door for a moment. When he heard Grantaire's low humming, he looked at his cell phone and checked his plan once more.

Today must be perfect.

On their way Grantaire maybe wasn’t the best companion, maybe he was still complaining about the sun being so hot and warm that day, maybe he said something about everyone being strangely dressed today; but when they entered the Luxembourg Gardens right next to the palace, Grantaire changed. In a moment, he was once again the kind guide who began to talk about the architecture and history of the place. Enjolras smiled to himself.

Yesterday, however, made them tired more they expected. After half an hour, they both felt pain in their legs and sat down on one of the benches overlooking the Luxembourg Palace. “Wanna go inside?” Grantaire asked, feeling that they had both been silent for a long time. “It might be too luxurious for you, but you get to place where a government meet, which is like porn for you; and you can also spit Napoleon’s chair if you want.” Enjolras said nothing for a moment. Grantaire noticed his frown. “What? Did I defeat your surprise?”

“No,” Enjolras said, rising from his seat. “I just thought we could get some food.”

“Where the wine is, I'm a guest there.” Enjolras say nothing on his comment, and he led Grantaire along one path in the gardens. They were moving away from the palace. Enjolras glanced at it one more time. Of course he wanted to go inside. When will he have another chance? With his busy schedule and the cost of his living, he was glad he had found one spare time and a few money. He came from a wealthy family, but he didn’t take any money from his parents for a few years now. They came to property by their own merits, together they got out of the worst and both had experienced days of poverty. He didn’t want to be just one of the  _ sons _ who used their parents money and willingness to their last breath. But he always laughed at his mother’s troubled expression as she tried to force him to think she needed to buy him something. Seeing something he doesn’t have another change for some years? The insanity to refuse. But now? Absolutely logical. They would go in, but for what purpose? Make Enjolras happy. But it wasn’t about him today.

Enjolras looked ahead, where Grantaire pointed to every tree, trying to tell him that he knew how old they were and what they must have seen. At times he was surprised at how he was able to glamourize everything and say it so sincerely that if Enjolras didn’t know him, he would have believed Grantaire on the spot.

_ With such talent, he could become a writer _ . “Interesting, it never occurred to me,” Enjolras said aloud without realizing it.

“I'm glad you enjoy it.” Grantaire laughed and continued his speech. Enjolras unobtrusively pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and quickly looked at the display. He nodded and hid the cell phone quickly.

“Wait.” Grantaire paused. “What's that way?” He pointed to the right, where the road had turned from dusty to asphalt and led out of the gardens.

“The way,” Grantaire said, his eyebrows raised.

Enjolras sighed aloud. “I see it. Rather, I thought - where?”

“In the street.”

Enjolras had to take a deep breath. Grantaire was one of the smartest of their group. It was clear that when he talked like a fool he did it because, first, he wanted to make fun of him; or, second, trying to hide something. He didn’t like either option. “Is there something interesting?”

“Just a lot of houses and shops like everywhere else here.”

“Oh,” Enjolras said quietly, Grantaire studied him for a moment, then continued in his walk and speech again. Enjolras took a few steps and stopped. He looked out of the garden and then in front of him, where Grantaire walked slowly, telling something that was no longer close to his ears. “My mom likes Alfons Mucha.”

Grantaire stopped again and turned. Seeing how far he was from Enjolras, he frowned. “What?” He asked a little puzzled, returning to his friend.

“My mom likes Alfons Mucha.” Enjolras felt like a idiot. He could keep a secret - when someone told him not to say something, he didn’t say it; knowing the information, too sensitive to anyone else to know, he made it seem like he didn't know about it. But surprise? He didn’t know what to say, his body froze, and he always felt almost lost. That’s why his friends most often told him about secret birthday parties like the last one. Because they knew his behavior would betray him. And now? It must have been clear to Grantaire that something was happening. “You like Alfons Mucha?”

“Is something wrong?” And it was here. Of course Grantaire know he was hiding something.

Enjolras sighed. Then he smiled to himself and tried to relax. But his thoughts screamed so loudly in his head that his ears were almost plugged.  _ Don't spoil it! _ “Do you know who it was?”

“Of course, Apollo, I learned about him at school. We had something like, how to explain, like, hours of symbolism? Simply, a lot of authors put more into their works than you would expect. It’s not just an image of someone, but mostly something, and has a lot of hidden meanings. And, well, he was good at it. I think one of our professors had crush on him, he had his replicas everywhere in his cabinet.”

“You know he lived here?”

“Yes I know.”

“I found out that where he lived, is now a small shop selling his copies for a few euros. Do you think we could go there? I want to buy something for mom.”

“Once you have a boyfriend, he'll be happy with you like a pig in the rye, believe me. You’re going to spoil him like that, right?”

“I don't want to spoil her,” Enjolras protested, and smiled when he noticed that Grantaire had led him away from the gardens to the place he needed. “I find it normal that if I go abroad, I will return home with gifts for the loved ones.”

“What do you have for your  _ love _ ?” Enjolras frowned at the sign that he didn’t understand. “Feuilly?”

“Can you all stop with that?” Enjolras asked angrily, and for the first time that day Grantaire laughed heartily. His laughter pounded Enjolras's heart a few beats ahead. “I will never drink in your presence again.” It had been almost six years since he had admitted at the Combeferre’s birthday party that he had been in love with Feuilly for some time. He still has no idea who was more embarrassed. Whether Enjolras after waking up in the morning, or Feuilly, who was accompanied by, now his fiancée today. They avoided each other for a while, but after some time they forget it and their bond strengthened thank to Enjolras’  _ little confession _ .

_ And then Enjolras had the boys, so he got over it. He's able to love again. But you? Who would love you?  _ Grantaire shook his head quickly. Today wasn’t the best for him. He felt it from the morning. He knew the noise in his ears, the pressure in his eyes, the chest pain. The feeling that he wants to break something, that he wants to run, that he wants to cry. Depression slowly began to settle against him. Not yet in full force, but he felt claws slowly clenching into him. It was slowly getting under his skin. He knew that on the day he returned to his small apartment, where it still smells of Montparnasse after half a year, he would break down. He was resigned to it, but it still scared him. He knew he couldn’t fight it. “Fuck it,” he whispered to himself as he took a few deep breaths and exhaled to return to reality. He didn’t need to think about how unbalanced he was. He knew about himself. That was enough for him. “So where do you want it?”

“Sorry?”

“Well - why are you blushing Apollo, wh - oh my god!” Grantaire covered his mouth dramatically and laughed. “That sounded bad, but never, like  _ never ever _ , I thought someone like you would be able to think about it li—”

“Enough,” Enjolras whispered between his teeth and his cheeks were a little pink. “It was nothing.”

“No-no. You heard me well. And you thought about sex,” Grantaire laughed, moving closer to him. “If we didn’t talked about it yesterday, I wouldn’t get it, but now, when I know about how  _ big boy  _ you are, I know exactly what you were thinking about.”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras said a little more roughly.

_ As if he could ever touch you. He'd rather let you die than give you artificial respiration. Do you understand? _

“Yes, the threat has been accepted,” Grantaire said, concentrating on not hearing his inner voice again. He hated  _ it _ .

By the time they realized it, they stood in a picturesque alley that was not busy despite the presence of hotels, shops and restaurants. Grantaire was surprised at how determined Enjolras looked. He walked vigorously, very upright. That was how he looked when he tried to impress someone.

_ Is there a hot guy coming before us to he want to impress to prove you how much of disappointment you are? _

Grantaire kicked little stone before him. He needed to keep his head busy, otherwise his own thoughts would choke him.

“He lived here.” Enjolras stood in front of the green door with number thirteen. But he turned and pointed at the house in front of them. “What kind of house is that?”

Grantaire looked to the other side. “It's just Aca—” He blinked his eyes several times. He looked around as if he couldn’t remember where he was. How come - how come he didn’t notice? He walked this way so many times! After all, these shops, these restaurants, these hotels, these sidewalks, these balconies - everything breathed on him with memories he buried somewhere deep inside.

“Aca ...?” Enjolras’s question awakened him from another beginning of a panic attack.

“Well… that's… er…” Grantaire chuckled. “ _ Académie de la Grande Chaumière. _ ” It's been so long since he last said it!

“College?”

“Yes.”

“ _ Paj… paj… _ ”

“ _ Peinture _ and  _ Sculpture _ ,” Grantaire said expertly, smiling at Enjolras trying to say the letters on the inscription.

“Art.”

“Exactly. But, that's not important, some school. What about the store?”

“Grantaire?” Grantaire knew the voice. His heart pounded. He wanted to run after that voice. He felt the voice belonged to the person who had the best hugs. Hot, warm, friendly and loving. He looked after the voice. In front of the Academy building was a girl, looking young, tall, with long auburn hair and a gorgeous, white costume with gold accessories. She looked like a model. Her gaze was cool, but her voice was soft and sweet.

“Odette,” Grantaire breathed, almost inaudible, and the girl smiled at him. She revealed her perfect teeth and deep dimples on her cheeks. Grantaire stood there, pegged. Enjolras gently nudged his elbow to pay him some attention. He tossed his head inconspicuously toward Odette. “Oh, yeah, yeah,  _ yeah _ !” Together they went to other side of the street, right in front of Odette.

“ _ I haven't seen you for so long _ ,” she breathed, squeezing Grantaire several times so that he felt he would melt in her hot arms. “ _ Why didn't you let me know sooner? We could meet as soon as you arrived. Or did you not want to see me? _ ” She asked, annoyed, pinching him a little in the chest. Grantaire just hissed gently and flushed a little in his face. He scratched his hair, and before he could answer, Odette put her hands on her hips and tossed her perfect hair. “ _ Even artists like Castelucha and Léger didn't take so long like you!” _

“ _ Sorry, I'm sorry, _ ” he said with a smile, studying her from head to toe.  _ “I was just surprised to see such a beautiful woman. Just… wow. Odette, you look amazing. _ ”

“ _ Finally someone noticed! _ ”

“ _ You grew up. _ ”

“ _ You say that as if you were my grandfather. _ ”

“ _ I'm three years older, I can sounds like this. _ ” They both laughed, and Grantaire had just noticed Enjolras watching them. “Jesus, I'm sorry, I'm an asshole. Enjolras, this is Odette. Former classmate and best bully from art practice.”

“Odette,” she said, squeezing Enjolras’s hand. She smiled slightly at him and Enjolras smiled back. “Who still understands English well enough to get your head back in bowl full of spaghetti for that  _ bully _ comment.”

“Do you hear?” He said toward Enjolras, approaching him a little.”"That's how she threatened me all year!”

“It was the best way get your head working normal again!” She said loudly and walked to the green door. “Can we go?”

“No,” Grantaire said quickly, shaking his head. “We are going. We walk. Holiday. You know what.”

Odette looked at them and smiled mischievously. “Holiday… you say?”

“Yeah.”

“Just a vacation?”

“What do you mean with the  _ just vacation _ ?”

“ _ You're not just going on vacation with boys. _ ” She said in her native language, and Grantaire rolled his eyes.

“ _ He is my friend. _ ”

“Ami _. _ " Enjolras said suddenly, and they both looked at him. “ _ Ami _ . Friend. I understood that. Yes, Grantaire and I are just friends.”

“Just friends,” Grantaire repeated, feeling his own saliva bitter. As he swallowed, he grinned and Odette laughed loudly. “ _ What? _ ” He asked in exasperation.

“ _ Am I right. You're not just going on vacation with someone.” _

_ “Keep going in and don't comment.” _

_ “You're as insolent as I remember you.” _

_ “And you the same bitch I remember.” _

_ “How cute.” _

“Excuse me, but could you… would you speak English?” Enjolras asked looking a little lost. Both looked at him apologetically, and when Grantaire inhaled to say something, he looked at Odette and smiled. “We'd love to go inside.”

“What?” Grantaire asked in surprise. “Why?”

“Something tells me the building is important to you.”

“It's not.”

“He's lying,” Odette said immediately without looking at Grantaire. “It's his alma-mater.”

“Well, I would—”

“Did you study here?”

“Well, that—”

“Art practice to be accurate. Oh, yes. This is where our dear Grantaire studied before he promised us to come back in a year and we never saw him again.”

“You see me now,” Grantaire protested.

“And I’m glad, you know,” she said, strangely sweet this time. It seemed as if two personalities were blending in her - one arrogant and cooler, and the other sweet and loving. It was strange to watch her. “Come on before I faint. The high temperature is annoying.” Before Grantaire could say anything, Enjolras had already walked around him and walked in. Grantaire sighed aloud and followed them.

As soon as the door closed behind him, he could smell the colors, paintbrushes, old walls, and the old coffee; everything breathed in his memory. Here he spent almost a year of his life. He walked between classrooms, studios, large and small halls. Here in the corner, just behind the staircase, he met Neptune, with whom he then lived in the dorm. On the second floor he received private lessons from the painter Lafayette, hanging on every word he said, and couldn’t break away from his graceful wrist movements. From the vending machine at the end of the corridor, he drank his first, real, strong, black coffee, which always put him on his feet after not sleeping the night. Instead of suffocating him, the floods of memory gave him energy. As if everything in this place was trying to bring him to a time when he was happier.

“Grantaire.” Odette stood at the door to the main room, and Enjolras looked over her shoulder inside. There was a happy smile on his face. “ _ Come on _ .” He said nothing and walked into the main room with both of them.

“ _ God _ ,” Grantaire whispered to himself. Everything was the same he remembered. A room with a large ceiling, peeling walls, a lighted candle that smelled of cinnamon and vanilla. The floor was old, grimy and still creaking. Red suede-covered tables stood in the corner of the room, along with stands, stepladders, chairs, and everything needed to paint. “ _ Nothing has changed _ ,” he breathed, almost breathlessly, as he looked at the dried and old paintings that were casually leaning against the walls. “ _ Nothing _ .”

“ _ You know very well that nothing can change _ ,” Odette said as she left to blow out the candle. She checked several times to see if she had extinguished the wick. “ _ I just finished my lesson _ .”

“ _ Are you lecturing here _ ?”

“ _ I teach _ .”

“ _ You're a teacher? _ ” Grantaire asked with a grin, and Odette’s eyes burned again. He wanted to make fun of her when he heard something fall to the ground. He turned quickly to the sound. Enjolras quickly picked up one of the wooden frame from the ground.

“I'm sorry,” he said immediately, trying to put the frame back in place.

“It's nothing,” Odette said, walking over to him. She took the frame from him. “It always falls. Sometimes we think it’s cursed.”

“Cursed?” Enjolras studied the frame with interest. It was hand-cut, several years old. The gold color had long since washed away. It was dingy and scratched in some places.

“It was said that Modigliani had painted his best drawings in it. Before he went crazy.”

“He wasn’t crazy,” Grantaire said. “He was just like that.”

“ _ He was crazy. _ ”

“ _ He was a true artist, a true bohemian _ .”

“ _ A true drunkard. _ ”

“ _ Well, artists mostly are. _ ”

“ _ I had a lot of arguing today, the students are more arrogant by every year. You better teach them. You’re just like them.”  _ She turned back to Enjolras and stroked the frame several times. “It is said that it will fall every time true artistic inspiration enters the rooms. Muse. Someone more important to the artist than his talent.” With that she set the frame on the bunk to make sure it didn’t slip again. “But there must also be a chosen artist who is worthy to paint the muse. It is an old superstition that Modigliani himself might have invented, but some believe it more than is healthy.” She tossed her head unobtrusively at Grantaire, who had been looking at the works in the room. “In truth, I started to believe that too because of him.”

“Why?” Enjolras asked curiously.

“The frame felt every time Grantaire was in evening lecture.”

“Look!” They both turned to Grantaire, who stood in front of a purple field painting in Provence. “This is Neptune’s work.”

“The blacksmith?” Enjolras asked.

“Yes.” He took the picture in his hand and began looking at it with fear. “It’s as awful as I remember.”

“It seems nice to me,” Enjolras protested as he examined the picture.

“Maybe for inexperienced eyes. But it’s suffering for us.”

“Still, this is his best work,” Odette said, returning the painting to its place. “We should protect it. Neptune never paints anything better. If ever.”

“Has he quitted completely?”

“Completely. When you left, he was no longer interested in painting. I think art was just a way for him to find his true meaning in life.”

Grantaire just nodded and took a few deep breaths. He loved the smell. He loved it _ here _ . Why didn’t he ever want to come back here? “Is something wrong?” Enjolras asked. “You're scowling.”

“It's all right,” he lied and swallowed dry.

Enjolras looked at Odette and pointed at the door. Odette just smiled at him. “I would like to show something to both of you. But we’ll have to get out for a while. Then we can come back here.”

“That's good,” Grantaire said immediately, approaching Enjolras. “We already have something.”

“And what?”

“Apollo.”

“Odette certainly wants to show us something interesting.”

“Yes,” she confirmed.

“See.”

With that, Enjolras left the room and Grantaire just sighed. Enjolras was stubborn. Though it didn’t seem, he didn’t like to argue. But he also didn’t like it when someone tried to resist him. He looked at Odette, who was laughing and could see her trying to keep silent. “ _ What _ ?” Grantaire asked irritably, knowing he wouldn’t like the next sentence.

“ _ Apollo, right _ ?”

“ _ Shut up _ .”

Odette just laughed as an answer.

The way was longer than they both thought. Maybe it wouldn’t take so long if she didn’t stop at any moment because she and Grantaire were nudging for opinions about the artists. Although they studied the same subject, they seemed to have very different opinions. Odette, concerned with surrealism, advocated modernism; while Grantaire, absorbed by symbolism, tried to convince her that she had to put more than technique and emotion into the work. Although Enjolras didn’t understand their fast French, he enjoyed listening to them. Even the insolent remarks in this language seemed noble.

After an hour, when they stopped by the window for cooked muffins, they reached a remote alley with modern, newly painted buildings on one side; on the other building with a crumbled plaster covered with ivy. Odette walked over to the gate with a no entry sign. “Come in,” she said as she swallowed the last piece of muffin and opened a gate that wasn’t locked.

“We can't go there,” Grantaire said as he stopped. “Enjolras, really, I'm not kidding right now. I’ve been here several times, and until you get permission, they won’t let you in.” He looked at Odette, who had a neutral expression on her face. “ _ Why here _ ?”

“ _ I thought you liked it here _ .”

“ _ Can we go away? _ ”

“ _ No. _ ” She looked at Enjolras and signaled to him. “They’re expecting us.”

_ “I didn't notice you picking up the phone and talked to someone. _ ”

“Grantaire,  _ shut up _ .”

Grantaire was no longer trying to protest. He and Enjolras walked in and he had to bite his lip as soon as the gate closed.  _ La Ruche _ . The hive. An inaccessible place with a beautiful, round building behind its gate, hiding the most beautiful, most spectacular and most famous studios. Famous artists, esteemed and painted here. Grantaire had the opportunity to look inside only five times. Every time for a reward, thanks to his beloved professor who told him  _ he would somebody in art _ . That his art would appeal to the crowds and he would be famous.

_ Look at you now. You had the chance to drag it somewhere and screw it up. _

Grantaire made a sound he couldn’t identify. It was something between whining and a painful moan. “Are you all right?” Enjolras asked cautiously, putting his hand on his shoulder.

“Yes,” the brunette whispered, quickly stepping forward.

Odette opened the front door, and as soon as they entered, she immediately started talking to a young man there. He was all spotted from blue and white paint. He smiled at Odette, and by body language it seemed they know each other. While Enjolras admired the strange shape of the building, the spiral staircase and polished wood; Grantaire tried to overhear what the two were talking about. “So upstairs,” she said, pointing to one of the stairs. There were several portraits of famous artists on the walls. Especially painters and sculptors. Odette said something about each of them. Enjolras listened to her with interest, while Grantaire remained silent, still looking around. It was clear from the corridors that it was still alive from the closed studio doors.

Odette stopped at the top floor at the end of the corridor in front of the large mahogany door, the only one marked with a number and hand-decorated. “ _ Ready _ ?”

“ _ For what? _ ” Grantaire asked, frowning. Only now had he noticed the name under the number.  _ Lafayette _ . He opened his mouth, perhaps in the hope that Odette would stop, but she already opened the door.

Everything then happened so quickly. Grantaire walked into the room and looked around. Lafayette’s studio was  _ beautiful _ . Aesthetic. It was a place that breathed in him at ease, and every time the professor took him to such a prominent place, he enjoyed every second he had the chance to soak up some of the history and art of artists long dead. The room was painted in light orange color. In the middle of the room was a bunk with a red cushion and a stand with a work in progress that still smelled of paint. Next to the rack was a small table with several colors, brushes and dirty water. There were flower pot racks all over the room. There were only one flowers in them - purple lavenders. Instead of the roof, they had a glazed ceiling over their heads, through which a few sunrays ran into the room. They touched cannons that were hung on the walls. Some of them were in the frame, some only carelessly glued with a kind of tape. Some of the works were decorative, beautiful; some were sketches, almost doodles.

Grantaire walked to the wall and slowly touched one sketch. His fingers trembled. The sketch was painted with carbon that had long since lost its consistency, some of the places had been eaten in paper, some had faded. The sketch was no longer perfect. Grantaire inspected each work carefully.

After a few minutes of silence, Enjolras decided to move a little closer to Grantaire. He touched his shoulder with his hand and gently stroked it. Grantaire didn’t move. “Do you remember them all?”

“They're mine,” Grantaire whispered almost breathlessly. “Mine.”

“Why didn't you tell me you paint so beautifully?”

“Mine,” Grantaire whispered again.

“I would have helped you make a little famous for a long time because… wow. I don't understand art so much, but I know when something is good. No, this isn’t good. This is  _ perfect _ . Some paintings almost speak to me. Grantaire, you're a true artist.”

Grantaire winced. He turned his head so that he could see Enjolras. “You knew?” He asked quietly. Enjolras nodded after a moment. He was still smiling, but otherwise he seemed nervous. Actually, he didn’t know what he had promised from today. That Grantaire will jump enthusiastically several meters up? That he would thank him for drilling in his private life? He knew Grantaire hated it. But he hoped…

“I—” Grantaire jerked his shoulder again for Enjolras to release him. Enjolras immediately withdrew his hand to his body. Grantaire walked a few steps to the side so that he didn’t have to look at Enjolras while still looking at a few pictures on the wall. Enjolras looked at Odette, who was thoughtful and watched the brunette with a small groove on her forehead. “I… I’ll go out,” Enjolras said at last. “There is a second-hand bookshop near that has intrigued me. I guess you’ll know which one. ”

“ _ Le marché du livre ancien et d’occasion. _ ”

“Yes.” Enjolras wanted to say something else. Something in the sense of  _ I’m sorry  _ or  _ I shouldn't have done that _ or  _ I just wanted to make you happy _ . But he didn’t say anything. He walked to the door and leaned over to Odette and whispered, “Thank you for your help.” He turned once more, but Grantaire still stood with his back turned to him. “You'll find me there. Somewhere. I'll be there,” he said, a little more nervous than usual, and left.

Ten long minutes no one said anything. “ _ That wasn’t nice of you, _ ” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

“ _ What? _ ”

“ _ How you acted. You practically throw him away _ .” Grantaire said nothing. “ _ He just praised you.” _ Grantaire was still silent. “ _ He just told you _ —”

“— _ I'm a true artist _ .” Odette blinked. The voice. He sounded strangled. As if—

“ _ Are you crying? _ ” She asked cautiously.

Grantaire shook his head, swallowed dry. He turned to her. She saw her red lips from biting constantly. “ _ Not yet, _ ” he said with a smile, trying to hide his emotion. “ _ God, I'm such an idiot. _ ” He ran fingers through his hair and looked around the room, as if hoping he might tell him what to do next.  _ “I… how is this… all this? _ ” He threw his arms around him, hoping someone would finally tell him everything.

“ _ Lafayette never forget you. When you left, he spoke of you as the best student he taught _ .  _ He said he tried to contact you several times, but without success.” _ Lafayette loved calligraphy and handwriting. All the letters he send, Grantaire have. He read them, carefully tucked them into the box he put at the bottom of his desk and tried not to think about them. He asked him several times to at least write him back, but Grantaire had never been able to. He felt as if he had failed him. He promised him how he would try and soon became a true artist. Lafayette never wanted to be rich, to be known, but he recognized talent and managed to support him with all his power. And Grantaire, who was not able to complete a single work in three years that would attract critics, and he hadn’t been in the selection of promising students for the past year; he felt embarrassed. It was easier for him to act like a dead.

“ _ I'm sorry. _ ” He looked at her, smiling gently at her. “ _ Thank you. For this. _ ”

“ _ You shouldn't thank me. _ ”

Grantaire frowned. He chuckled. “ _ Something stinks from the beginning. How did he make you do that?” _

“ _ Did you see him? _ ” Odette pointed a finger at the door where Enjolras had disappeared a few minutes ago. “ _ I would have been able to get him goats to sacrifice for Satan. _ ” They both laughed at the comparison. “ _ Which is the only reason I didn’t try to kill him last night. It should be a crime to write to someone at midnight. But he was so adamant that I give up. Actually, even though I didn’t sleep much, it was worth writing with him. Despite the messages, he was so nice. And at least in the meantime, I could melt over his social network photos. He’s a true beauty _ .” Odette paused for a moment. “ _ He promised me that he would get something he longed for a long time _ .”

“ _ He? _ ” He asked in surprise. “ _ What is it? _ ”

“ _ Your smile. _ ”

The door opened. In them stood a sixty-year-old, grizzled man of smaller stature. His face was shaved smoothly, with a few wrinkles on his forehead and cheeks, but his eyes glowed with a pale hazel color. He was a little stooped, his clothes dirty from paint, and he held a thick brush that wiped the soiled, green cloth. When he saw Odette, he wanted to ask her something, but as soon as his eyes caught sight of Grantaire, he dropped the brush with a rag to the ground and walked up to the brunette in a few quick steps. He hugged him so hard that Grantaire felt he would break all his ribs. “ _ Grantaire, darling, how glad to see you again! My talent. _ ” Odette’s: “I'll leave you alone.” was almost overheard. “ _ Where have you been like this?! _ ” He pulled away from him to look at him. “ _ So handsome! Almost looking like a real man now.” _ He commented on his figure, brightening up. He had pink cheeks from enthusiasm.

“ _ Mister Lafayette… _ ” Grantaire whispered, as if he still couldn’t believe he was seeing him.

“ _ Oh, boy _ ,” Lafayette said loudly and hugged Grantaire again. “ _ I missed you so much _ .” His cologne - dense, chocolate, orange, lilac - flooded Grantaire's senses and revived all his memories. They started dancing around him, seeing something from the past in every corner. They sat there, chatting there, eating fresh nectarines, telling him how he had found the love of his life, explaining color theory to him, then putting his first hand-carved brush in his hand, letting him sleep over there when he was busy and was unable to reach the last metro line to get to the dorm…

Grantaire bit his lip. He could smell a salty flavor in his mouth. He cried. He hugged Lafayette heavily around his shoulders. “ _Don't cry_ ,” Lafayette whispered in his cheerful voice. Grantaire pressed him even more. “ _Is something wrong, son?_ ” _Son_. The last time someone calls him son was at court at his parents’ divorce, before the court had placed him in custody of his grandmother, who always called him _a_ _sweet grandchild_.

“ _ I’m so happy to see you! _ ” Grantaire shouted into his shoulder, squeezing him even more, letting his art mister stroke his hair. His tears was running down on his face with an uncontrolled speed. He didn’t mind. He knew it were tears of happiness.

He was  _ incredibly  _ happy.

The sun was setting, and the sky was beginning to turn dark orange when voice next to Enjolras’s side said, “What are you reading?” Enjolras looked up to look at Grantaire, his hands in his pockets, a black bag hung on his wrist. Enjolras smiled at him and picked up the book so the black hair could read its title. “French for dummies?” He laughed.

“This gentleman gave it to me for free, I need it. His words.” Enjolras pointed to the older man in front of them, who was just wrapping up his stall and waving at both of them with a broad smile. They both waved back. “I bought two books from him, but he doesn’t speak English, so it took us a long time to get what I wanted. He forced me to take this book, saying that if I wanted to survive in Paris, I had to learn everything.”

“Good citizen.” Grantaire sat on the bench beside Enjolras and exhaled deeply. “Today was …” He didn't finished, just blew out loud and laughed.

Enjolras closed the book and hid it in his backpack. He looked at Grantaire for a moment, who was still smiling, but his gaze was on his right shoe with which he was kicking into a small stone. “Grantaire, if I—”

“I have something for you.” Grantaire pulled out yellow paper from his black bag. He blew it at it and looked at it from all sides. “It's not perfect, but I think you’ll appreciate it.” He reached for Enjolras and handed the paper to him.

On the old paper, a figure of a man was painted with carbon, ink and white pencil. He sat squatting, his head turned to the left. His hands were crossed on his chest and he was smiling. He had muscles on his hands and thighs. His hair was long, falling in his face, on his back, flying on paper in an imaginary wind. He wore a bloody crown of old, dead branches. Twelve white wings of different sizes grew from his back. Everything looked real, vivid, Enjolras felt he could touch him and feel tensions in his muscle or smoothness of his feathers.

“That's wonderful,” Enjolras whispered, and without realizing it, he touched the man’s face with his finger. He was gentle, girlish, but there was something fearless about him. “Who is it?”

“Lucifer,” Grantaire replied, moving closer to Enjolras to look at the drawing again. “Or at least how I imagine him to look like.”

“He’s beautiful.”

“He was an angel.”

“I mean, how you drew it.”

Grantaire smiled broadly. “I did my best. I drew this as one of the last works before I went back to London.”

“Who was your model?”

“Jealous?” Grantaire asked, laughing. “No one, Apollo, I made that up. That's what I think angels look like.” Enjolras looked at the drawing again. The angel looked— “Yes, he looks like you. My God, you’re such an egoist.”

“I didn't say anything,” Enjolras countered, feeling blood pouring into his cheeks. As soon as he saw the drawing, he thought that Grantaire had painted his more perfect version with angel wings. He was ashamed of the idea. But the notion that he was an inspiration to Grantaire made his heart pound.

“You didn't have to. But you inspired me to bring some Paris to my friends too. And what else than a piece of my tragic work?”

“This is definitely not something I would imagine to be  _ tragic _ .”

“You didn't see the rest. Of course I have chosen the best for you.” Enjolras and Grantaire looked at each other and said nothing. Grantaire cleared his throat after a while. “Do you want to see the rest?”

“Of course.”

“Prepare for bad arts and unsolicited lecture of color theory.”

Grantaire kept his word. For each picture he told Enjolras how it was made, what colors he used, and usually mentioned how embarrassed he was wanting to give them something like that. Enjolras looked closely at each picture and couldn’t believe that Grantaire had never boasted his works. They were all unique (portrait of Victor Hugo for Jehan; a skull covered with thyme for Bahorel; a young, naked woman for Courfeyrac; aurora for Combeferre; a human heart for Joly; a four-leaf clover for Bossuet; winged lion for Feuilly; army uniform for Marius; tabby cat with kitten for Éponine and Gavroche; lyre for Musichetta; field of flowers for Cosette), but it contained its distinctive signature, which manifested itself particularly in its popularity of highlighting the edges of the main objects with ink and black or white crayon.

“All right, time to go, do we go to the apartment or do you want some dinner?” Grantaire asked as he got up.

“In fact, I'd like to go to Valjean. I still feel yesterday in my feet.”

“Tell me about it.” Enjolras packed everything in his backpack, hid the camera, and got up from his seat. “Enjolras?” Enjolras looked at Grantaire, who was only a few paces ahead of him, smiling pleasantly. “About today…” He bit his lip. Enjolras saw that they were chewed in blood in some places and his eyes were in the light of the setting sun, shimmering with tears. “Thank you very much. This… This meant a lot to me.” He turned and walked away slowly.

If he turned, he would see Enjolras smile beautifully from his heart.

_ Mission accomplished. _


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one week? Why not!

“I had a wonderful dream,” Grantaire muttered into his pillow as Enjolras returned from the shower and wiped with towel his still wet hair.

“Really?” Enjolras asked curiously as he boiled the water in the kettle.

“I was painting,” Grantaire replied, but didn’t elaborate it. He didn’t know what or who he was painting. He only saw himself standing in front of the easel, a palette of colors in his hand, dirty from paint. Red and gold on his face, blue sprayed on his clothes. He smiled, muttered, his eyes constantly looking over the stand at someone he couldn’t see. The canvas was painted, but he couldn’t tell by what. When he was awakened by Enjolras’s alarm clock, his fingers were still itchy as he imagined he was holding a brush. “Perhaps I miss painting,” he finally assessed as he examined his hands, which had been clean for too long. When was the last time he painted properly? Something other than a few strokes on paper or canvas, which he then thrown away or leave with the words: _ I will finish it one day ... _

“That pleases me,” Enjolras said, handing hot tea to Grantaire.

“You will not eat?” Grantaire asked, surprised, noticing that Enjolras had only a coffee mug in his hand.

“I thought we could have breakfast outside.”

“Try to spot one open shop. Do you remember me saying that the French are night creatures and can’t get up early in the morning?”

“A little.” Enjolras looked out the window. There were a few clouds in the sky. It was a little cooler than the previous days.

“Today’s plans?” Grantaire asked, and Enjolras looked at him. “I’m still charged from yesterday and I have turned off completely, so I will follow you calmly to even into hell.”

Enjolras laughed. “I've been a bit… tired of the last two days,” he admitted.

“Thank God, I already thought I'd be the only one dying.” Grantaire put the tea on the table and fell back in the duvets. “So are we going to lay in bed all day?”

“That's not what I meant. Rather… take a walk around? Have a picnic? We could buy baguettes, cheeses or something sweet. And certainly some good red wine would come in handy.”

“You know how to convince me.”

They both came out of the apartment, bought baguettes and sweet cakes in the bakery, and bought various salami, fruit and vegetables, water and wine in various small shops along the way. As they passed one of the less populated parks, they decided to stay there. They made a blanket under a large oak tree, unpacked food and ate quietly. Grantaire then lay down on the half of the blanket that was in the sun, lay down on his back, put his hands behind his head, and absorbed sunlight in silent delight. Enjolras, on the other hand, remained in the shadow of an oak tree, leaning against his trunk, and pulled one of the books he had bought yesterday from his backpack.

After half an hour, Grantaire broke the silence, saying, “Fuck, I don't have a cell phone.”

Enjolras stopped reading and looked at Grantaire, who was frowning and slowly rising to a sitting position. “What?”

“I don't have a cell phone,” Grantaire repeated, glancing at Enjolras. “I haven't had it all week!” he shouted frightened. “Jesus, how could I forget him!?”

“Do you have a relationship with  _ it _ ?”

“Haha, really funny, Apollo. Shit, where could I put it?”

“Did I give it to you after we arrived?” They both thought. “I feel like I took it from you when you received a message from Mont — from… from…” He cleared his throat. “But I honestly don’t remember if I gave it back to you.”

“I don't think so,” Grantaire finally said. “Wow, you calmed me down.” He lay back on the blanket. “But now it makes me nervous that you could read all my messsages or download my embarrassing selfies.”

“Don't you have it password protected?”

“Why would I do that? I guard it like an eye in my head. I mean - until now.”

“I wasn't looking,” Enjolras said, putting the book next to him. “But now I’m sincerely interested.”

“Don't even think about it!”

They both laughed. The calm between them filled both of them with happiness. It was as if something had broken between them yesterday. Something neither of them could name. They felt comfortable with each other, even when they were silent, feeling that they were talking with each other’s eyes. In the evening they together watched the film for the first time. It was _ The Green Mile  _ and they had seen it a thousand times already, but they still enjoyed it. They sat side by side, rubbing their thighs, wiping their fingers occasionally as they reached for the popcorn in their bowl on Grantaire’s lap at the same time. They were silent, in fact they just wished good night before Enjolras left to take an evening shower and Grantaire fell exhausted into the duvets; but it was so… what? They were both afraid to name it. Neither of them wanted to give them any unnecessary hope.

“It’s raining lightly,” Grantaire said suddenly as a tiny drop hit him on his face. He glanced at the sky, which was still beautifully blue, but a few bright gray clouds raced toward the sun.

“We'd better go, it should start raining in the hour,” Enjolras said as he quickly checked the weather forecast on his mobile. They both packed everything up and set off on their way to Valjean.

“Here,” Enjolras said as he hauled Grantaire’s cell phone out of his trunk and gave it to him. “Sorry, I really forgot about it.”

“It’s all right,” Grantaire told him without looking at him and turning it on. “I'm surprised I didn’t notice before. I - a mobile addict.” Grantaire didn’t give a blow without his cell phone. In fact, he had no idea what he was so interested in the small, black, scratched brick with a cracked display. True, he was always on headphones and listening to music. Every time he was in a good mood, a bad mood, when he wanted to create, when he wanted to hear something other than the noise of his own thoughts… He didn’t even understand how he could last so long without music and contact with others.

He glanced at Enjolras, who unpacked the remains of food that they had not eaten at the picnic. Grantaire smiled. He knew very well why he had forgotten. He had better things to do.  _ Admire his body, soak up his scent, feel his gaze, which could mean so many things.  _ Grantaire sighed. He shouldn’t think of that. But what was it? Now that they were so close and it looked like, maybe—

An annoying beeping sound ripped from his own thoughts, sounding every second, annoyingly telling him he had several unread messages, missed calls, social network alerts, and emails. “Some people missed me,” he laughed as he watched in surprise as the warning jumped on the wallpaper.

“Of course,” said Enjolras, who appeared beside him and handed him a glass of wine. Grantaire looked at him in surprise. Enjolras also had one prepared. “To the end of the holiday,” he said with a smile as Grantaire took the glass from him. “We’ll be here for a long time.” Grantaire had only now noticed that the sky was dark gray and the first drops of rain began to fall on the ground.

“At least we will rest,” Grantaire said, sitting down on his seat, putting his feet on the table in front of him, and swallowing his drink. When the cell phone didn’t make another new sound, Grantaire whistled. “This will be long.”

While Grantaire read emails, answered the important ones from school, and deleted job offers and various spam messages, Enjolras sat down at a small table where he always had breakfast and unpacked his notebook. He looked at Grantaire a few times. When he was sure he wasn’t watching him, he clicked on the Photoshop icon and started editing new photos. He used to working on them every time Grantaire fell asleep. Tapping on the keyboard and display light couldn’t wake Grantaire from his hard sleep.

They both did their work, sipped wine, and listened to the large raindrops falling on the window. Suddenly Grantaire laughed at the silence of the room. Before Enjolras could ask what had happened, Grantaire said, “Bahorel asks who is better - French women or men. What am I supposed to answer? I haven’t really tried either of them.”

“Marc would be hurt right now.”

“You see, Apollo, I completely forgot my baby kissers.” Grantaire was surprised Enjolras was really listening to him. “But that was a long time ago. I feel like I probably never kissed a French girl. If I don’t count Odette. But I’d hate to go back to that.” He shuddered at the memory of how drunk Odette with fresh vomit on her clothes and in her mouth leaned to his equally drunken persona and began to kiss him passionately. “I’m going to write something that sure pisses him off.”

“Like?” Enjolras asked without looking away from the monitor.

“He still kisses so badly that he wouldn’t tell the difference if he was kissed by a woman, a guy, or a frog. So, for him, the information is absolutely useless.” As soon as he finished writing it, a moment later there was a tinkling sound announcing that Bahorel answered him. Grantaire laughed. “He says I should kiss my ass.” They both laughed. “Then Combeferre…” He clicked on the message. “He asks me where are the papers are on Friday’s demonstration of gender neutral toilets. Fuck, why does he write to me? How could - oh, then he wrote that he was wrong and it's for you.”

“We already talked,” Enjolras told him.

Grantaire just nodded. “Then messages from Jehan. All references to Hugo's works, places where he lived, where he walked, where he wrote, my God, even where he eated. The kid should go to the rehab. He's completely obsessed with this guy.” He quickly wrote Jehan that  _ he had no time for such crap _ . “Then I have about a million messages and missed calls from Joly, I’ll call him, because I’m not in the mood to read his messages about how soon I will die.” Grantaire laughed. “I have to say hello from Courfeyrac and tell you not to embarrass me.”

“Typical Courfeyrac,” Enjolras said.

“I believe he also send something to you,” Grantaire said as he began answering Courfeyrac.

“To keep an eye on you and return just as  _ pure _ as I leave.”

“If only he knew,” Grantaire laughed, remembering their honest conversation two days ago. “But it's nice he's worried about you.”

“Rather, what I could do.”

“Or with whom.”

“Or with whom.”

“As if it was with whom, when there is just the two of us, huh?” He asked with a smile as they both looked at each other. Enjolras took a breath to say something, but changed his mind. He bit his lip and nodded after a moment. They both looked at each other in silence, and after a while, each returned to his machine. Their inner voices shouted the same sentence:  _ Are you really thinking of—! _

Grantaire cleared his throat. “I have to call Joly. Bossuet wrote something about whether is falling from a tree as dangerous as Joly claims. I need to find out what they do at home without me.” He quickly rose from his seat and disappeared into the bathroom. He leaned his back against the sink. He looked at the phone display. He sighed and dialed his friend’s number.

Joly picked up the call right after the first ring. “ _ Well, thank for calling Mister I-want-you-to-have-heart-attack! _ ”

“I miss you too, Joly.”

“ _ I was worried about you! If you were alone, I would fly to Paris too!” _

“You couldn’t do that to the two. How are you all?”

“ _ Bossuet fell from a tree trying to rescue a kitten. _ ” Grantaire laughed. “ _ Don’t laugh! I was really worried about him! He fell on his back and took his breath away. I almost gave him CPR! _ ” On the other side, there was Bossuet’s dissatisfied grunting, and Musichetta's  _ It wasn’t so bad honey _ and sound that sounded like—

“Did I heard  _ meow _ right now?”

“ _ Yeah _ ,” Joly breathed, exhausted. “ _ Her name is Lucky, and the two persuaded me that when Bossuet nearly killed himself when he wanted to save her, we must keep her. The vet said she’s absolutely healthy and when he asked if he should enroll us as the owners, I couldn’t suddenly tell them to put her in a shelter. Even if she keeps scratching my bed, I think I’ll change my mind! _ ”There were a few dissatisfied sounds on the other side. Grantaire was sure Musichetta had taken the kitten in her arms, and Bossuet began to pet her. “ _ They are adorable. But don't tell them. _ ”

“Never.”

“ _ What about you? How are you? _ ”

“I'm fine, healthy, alive and sober.”

“ _ Really? _ ” Joly asked cautiously.

“You don't believe me that I can be booze-free for a while? That hurts, friend.”

“ _ I didn't mean that, of course! Rather… if you're really happy _ .”

“Really Joly,” Grantaire confirmed, looking at his reflection in the mirror. His cheeks were a little pink. From alcohol? Joy? From the feeling that there is Enjolras in the next room, who, whenever he works, shrugs his nose so cute and mutters to himself?

“ _ How did you enjoy yesterday? _ ”

“What?”

“ _ You were at your school, right? With Odette? _ ””

“How do you know?”

“ _ I thought Enjolras told you that... wait… _ ” He paused for a moment. “ _ I hope I won't say anything I shouldn’t, but Enjolras called me yesterday to help me. _ ”

“That explains everything,” Grantaire laughed. He never mentioned to anyone where he studied, with whom and who his friends were. Just Joly and Bossuet. They were so good friends that they told each other everything. Joly had a great ability to remember everything. It was clear that if Enjolras wanted to know something, he asked him.

“ _ Aren't you angry? _ ”

“Why should I be? For having the best day in my life?”

“Really?” Joly asked again, this time with hope in his voice.

“Really,” Grantaire said again. “ _ I saw school, I had fun with Odette, but the best… The best thing was to be back in the Hive and meet Lafayette. _ ”

“ _ Don't say! _ ”

“You sound surprised.”

“ _ I only talked about your alma-mater with Enjolras and I mentioned Odette. That was all. _ ”

“You know what Enjolras is… he can spend a few weeks on everything to make it perfect.”

“ _ Yes _ ,” Joly said, chuckling. “ _ You're his another successful project. _ ”

“Great.” They both laughed.

“ _ Grantaire? _ ”

“Yes?”

“ _ Are you really happy? _ ” Grantaire just hummed as a sign that  _ yes, he is really happy _ .  _ “And do you realize who caused it?” _

Grantaire sighed. “I know it very well.”

“Remember it.”

“I will.”

“ _ Take care of yourself. Let me know when you leave tomorrow. Do you want me to pick you up at airport? _ ”

“Enjolras has a car there, he’ll probably drive me home. I’ll let you know when I arrive and then we’ll go somewhere to drink.”

“ _ Sounds like a plan _ .” They both laughed again. “ _ Enjoy the evening, Grantaire _ .”

“You too. Say hello to husband, wife and child.”

“ _ And you to yours— _ ”

“—Joly,” Grantaire said with a little warning. “Please…”

“ _ … okay, _ ” Joly whispered at last, coughing, perhaps as if trying to hide that he wasn’t trying to indicate anything. “ _ Goodnight _ .”

“Goodnight.” He hung up and leaned his head back. He knew he was sometimes annoying with his talks about Enjolras, and both Joly and Bossuet had told him several times to try to do something about his feelings, and finally ask Enjolras for a date. But he had found another way to fight his  _ stupid crush _ \- as he liked to call it, because he was sure he  _ can’t love him, because no one deserved to love such a perfect being as him _ . Dating with others. And then  _ he  _ came— “Enough,” he whispered to himself, scratching his hair a few times. He didn’t want to think about him.

_ But can you ever erase him from your life? _

Grantaire came out of the bathroom and noticed that Enjolras hadn’t moved from desk. He was knocking frantically at the keyboard and frowning. “Everything's all right?” He asked, his eyes still on the monitor.

“Yeah, I let Joly know I’m still alive, and I haven’t drank myself to death. Yet.” He looked at the display. “Then I have some messages from my classmates, if we don’t go some stupid party next week, two girls offered me to be models for another project - yeah, sure. One is a terrible bitch and the other one is only doing it because she chase ego on her big tits. I really don’t want such models. And then there’s just— ” He paused.

Enjolras waited a moment for Grantaire to finish, but when he didn’t say anything, he turned his head to Grantaire, who had his mouth ajar, his pupils slightly stretched, and he swore he saw a thumb tremble on his hand. “Grantaire?” Grantaire winced and looked at the blond. His eyes were still glued on display. “Good?”

“Montparnasse,” he said, almost breathless. Enjolras’ body was covered with goosebumps. He didn’t know if it was because of his name or the tone that Grantaire had said it. He sounded so -  _ broken _ .

“What is he writing?” Enjolras asked, swallowing loudly. He didn’t even realize how dry his throat was.

“Um, that, doesn’t he, um…” Grantaire looked at the display again. His eyes were flowing back and forth. He read the messages several times in a row. He walked over to Enjolras. “Could you explain it to me a little? Like... what he's talking about. I mean - writing about.” Enjolras took the cell phone from him and started reading.

**[Flowerparnasse** :  _ So you're really going? A little selfish, don't you think? _ **]**

He remembered this message from the plane. He frowned. He wanted to write something nasty to Montparnasse. He’d never dreamed of insulting someone over the social network, but now he wanted to let everything out of himself. Why couldn’t Grantaire go on vacation without him? They broke up half a year ago. It was  _ his  _ decision. Grantaire didn’t want to break up. Should he not care what he does now?

**[Flowerparnasse:** _Could you at least answer me?_ **]**

**[Flowerparnasse:** _ Okay, be unavailable. You was always the best in this. _ **]**

**[Flowerparnasse:** _Hey, why are you tagged in a picture of Notre-Dam from that idiot from your stupid revolutionary band?_ **]**

 **[Flowerparnasse:** _Shit, are you telling me you're there with HIM?! With that fucking blond dick I hate? Are you doing this to me on purpose? This is pretty disgusting, Grantaire. Maybe I felt bad for some things and wanted to reunite, discuss it, maybe even apologize; but this?! You know what? Fuck you_! **]**

“What do you need to explain? Your ex is an idiot.” Enjolras returned him his cell phone.

“What did he mean by the photos?” Grantaire asked in surprise.

“Oh,” Enjolras grumbled, biting his lip. “I should have asked you for your consent, but I was afraid you wouldn’t agree. And it would be shame not to share it.” With that, he turned his notebook so that Grantaire could see it on the monitor. He opened a web browser, entered a social network address, and showed him the album Montparnasse had written about. Every day Enjolras added a few photos from the group trips to his personal page. Most of them were photographs of monuments, famous places, flowers or people who were just having fun, laughing or relaxing on blankets. But on the last one was Grantaire. It was a photo from yesterday, from school. He was looking at an picture, his fingers touching the structure of the canvas, smiling. He looked relaxed, contented,  _ happy _ .

Grantaire looked at Enjolras and blinked in confusion. “Why?”

“Do you mind?” Enjolras asked, a little surprised. “Sorry, I really should have asked you first. But I was hoping that this… I would delete it.”

“No,” Grantaire said immediately, and without thinking about it, he took Enjolras by the hands. He stopped him from deleting all the photos. “These are beautiful pictures. Don’t delete them. Jesus. Don’t do that.” Enjolras’s palms were hot, his skin soft. “The last one. With me. It’s pretty.” He really felt, after a few years of hating his body,  _ pretty.  _ He blamed it on Enjolras’s art.

“Okay,” Enjolras said, relaxing a little. But he didn’t move his hands and still held the brunette. “So what’s wrong?”

“Montparnasse,” Grantaire finally said, strong enough to sound it like someone’s name, not a moan. “What… why…”

“Why is he upset? Because you were always his possession, a displaying thing, nothing more.” Now it was Enjolras who hold Grantaire’s hands. His hands were cold, his skin rough and dry. “Grantaire, he never respected you. You’ve never been more to him than just someone— ”  _ Who was warming up the bed. Who was his personal punching bag. Who was doing a trash can for his bad moods. _ “—I never wanted to get too involved. You’re an adult. Just like me. Like him. You knew what you were doing. You wanted it that way and I, as your friend and someone I care about, accepted it. But did I agree? No. Never. Because unlike the others, I’ve seen what was happening in your relationship.”

“How?” Grantaire asked cautiously. Enjolras stroked his thumb on the back of his hand.

“I felt it from you. The hopelessness. Quandary. Loss. I may not be the best at finding out how to make you happy, but I tried. I tried to spend more time with you, know more about your relationship, understand what you like so much about him. I understood it. He had charisma. But all the more I knowed, I hated him. Because I knew that the only thing that lured and attracted you was all a lie. And you don’t deserve that. You don’t deserve to be unhappy, exploited,  _ broken _ . You deserve this.” Enjolras released Grantaire’s hands and turned to the monitor. He quickly found a folder with all the photos he couldn’t even publish. They were private, for his own pleasure. He opened several of them.

Grantaire exhaled in surprise. “That’s me…” he whispered as if the person he saw in the photos wasn’t really himself. Did he always looked so —

“Yes, that’s you. Happy. Satisfied. Cheerful. The way you deserve to be, because  _ you are like this _ .” Grantaire looked into Enjolras eyes. “I never wanted anything else. Not since I found out what you mean to me.” Enjolras bit his lip, Grantaire looked at him hopefully.

It was here. There was no way back.

“I like you, Grantaire.” He moved his hand to Grantaire’s face and gently stroked it. Unlike the skin on his hands, his cheek was soft and warm. “Maybe more than I realize, and I’ll ever be able to confess.”

“Enjolras, please,” whispered Grantaire, closing his eyes. He didn’t know if his heart was pounding with joy or pain. He didn’t know what to think of all this. What the  _ hell  _ is going on? “You can’t do this to me. I’m going to have a heart attack.” He tried to thaw the air that began to thicken around them, drawing in a scent he didn’t know. Sweet and intoxicating. He was afraid of it. “Montparnasse—”

“It's past. He can’t manipulate you. Only if you want...” Grantaire opened his eyes. Enjolras smiled slightly at him, his fingers on his face still caressing his. “Only then he can be Montparnasse for you. But at this moment, he’s just a person who has to disappear from your life so you can move on and be yourself.”

Enjolras wanted to continue. He had so much to say. So many thoughts that were chasing his head and choking him finally wanted out - they wanted him to say them out loud and not have to keep them inside. He thumbed his left hand gently on Grantaire’s face, touched one of his nostrils, and slowly slid to the edge of his lips. They were full, red, a little cracked, hot. Enjolras opened his lips under the touch, his eyes sliding down to their heart shape. “I have an infinite desire to kiss you now.”

Grantaire grunted and closed his eyes again. Why was Enjolras doing this to him? Didn’t he know how much it meant to him? “Enjolras…” he whispered. Enjolras leaned over to Grantaire. His other hand also touched his other cheek. He held his cheeks in his hands. Grantaire’s eyes were still closed, his lips half-open. His eyelids and lips were trembling. His hands were folded in his lap, tapping the ground nervously with one foot.

Enjolras took a deep breath and spoke two sentences in perfect French that he had learned carefully since yesterday.

“ _ Touit ira bien. _ ” Everything will be fine. “ _ N’aie pas peur.” _ Don’t be afraid.

Grantaire wasn’t even able to respond to how beautiful Enjolras’s French sounded. Instead, he immediately felt Enjolras’ lips. They were bigger, fuller than his. Also soft, sweet, a little wet and tasted slightly of metal as he bit his lips and tore skin on them.

The first kiss was gentle. They just rubbed against each other. Both lips trembled. Both of them were nervous. The second kiss was the same, the third was the same. At the fourth kiss, Enjolras opened his lips slightly and Grantaire immediately imitated him. Enjolras stroked Grantaire’s cheeks with his thumbs, Grantaire stopped breathing properly. After several innocent kisses, Grantaire touched Enjolras’s lower lip with the tip of his tongue. He shivered and clenched his fingers slightly. Sensing the opportunity, Grantaire slowly slipped his tongue into Enjolras’ mouth and began to exploring every corner of his lips. He tasted like coffee, wine and strawberries. Enjolras grunted contentedly and moved one hand to his neck, the other to his hair. He played with restless strands, his hand on his neck lifted Grantaire’s chin to a better angle to deepen their kiss even more. Their tongues have finally joined.

They kissed quietly for several long minutes. Only their kisses and rain could be heard through the room. It thundered somewhere in the distance. The storm was coming.

They pulled away. They needed some air, their lungs were burning. They looked at each other, their lips red and wet. Grantaire blinked, Enjolras looked carefully at him. “I’m not afraid,” Grantaire said quietly. “But Enjolras...  _ God _ .” He put one hand on Enjolras’ hip, the other on his hand, holding Grantaire’s neck and face. “Do you mean it?”

“Did I ever do something I didn’t mean?” The answer was clear to both of them.

Grantaire rose, reached out to Enjolras, and with a slight smile said, “Come.” Enjolras took his hand and walked with him to the couch. Enjolras sat down and gently took Grantaire by both hands and placed him on himself. “I’ll crush you,” Grantaire warned him.

“Never,” Enjolras objected, and when he finally forced Grantaire to rest on his lap, he took his face in his hands again and smiled at him. “I like you  _ very  _ much.” It was hard to say anything else.  _ Something stronger and more real _ . Grantaire understood that. It was difficult for him, too.

They started kissing. First gently, with open lips, with tongues. After a while they began to playfully compete for dominance. Grantaire hugged Enjolras around his neck and squeezed all him. They could both hear each other’s hearts. They were beating furiously. Enjolras began stroking Grantaire’s cheeks first, then his neck and hair, gradually moving down, across his chest, to his hips until he grabbed Grantaire’s butt and squeezed it gently.

Grantaire moaned. He was the first of them who moaned aloud. He pulled away from him and looked at Enjolras. As if asking if  _ he could _ . If he’s not doing something beyond the border. But Enjolras just smiled at him and kissed him again. He dug his fingers into the flesh of his butt and squeezed it a few times. Grantaire moaned louder and louder with each touch.

It wasn’t long before they both felt hot. Grantaire pulled away from Enjolras and looked at his light white shirt. Experienced, he began to unbutton one button after another. Enjolras watched all his efforts. As soon as he unbuttoned it, Enjolras pulled off his shirt and, with an experienced stroke, pulled the beige, tight shirt he always wore under his shirts. “God,” Grantaire whispered, his fingers touching his muscled chest. His skin was golden, as if it were permanently painted with color and glitter. “You look beautiful.”

“You only see a little of me,” Enjolras objected, but felt pleased that Grantaire liked him. Grantaire’s fingers mapped every bit of his exposed skin. Stretched skin on the neck, shoulders, raised collarbones, chest muscles, soft nipples (which hardened slightly under his coarse fingers and Enjolras hissed gently), torso, stomach. He felt strong ribs as he pushed his torso. Enjolras breathed quickly, looking at the hands that examined him. Grantaire couldn’t take his eyes off him. “What about you?” Enjolras asked cautiously as he ran his fingers under the hem of Grantaire’s black, loose shirt.

Grantaire just chuckled. “Even if you don’t expect anything, you’ll be disappointed.”

“Don't say such things,” Enjolras rebuked him gently and began to lift his shirt, slowly at first, if by chance Grantaire wanted to change his mind, but Grantaire eventually pulled it over his head. Grantaire’s skin was white, almost translucent, tattooed, natural. Enjolras exhaled admiringly. “What does that mean?” He asked as his fingers touched his right side. Tattoo with a bow with arrows, a lyre, some flowers he didn’t recognize, and the sun.

“Apollo,” Grantaire felt his cheeks burn. Shame? Excitement? “God of the sun, art, music, archery, dan— _ oh _ ,” he moaned softly as Enjolras ran his fingers from side to his chest and began to touch his nipple. Several tufts of wine were tattooed around it. They ended at the heart, where they formed a few words. “ _ In vino veritas _ , in wine lies the truth,” he said before Enjolras could ask.

“True,” Enjolras said. He could still taste red wine in his mouth, which he hadn’t even finished. “But I love this…” He stroked his finger on the hair path that led from his belly button down, below the hem of his pants.

“Really?” Grantaire asked in disbelief. Enjolras kissed his belly. A few times around the navel, then a little lower until his chin touched the button on his pants. He stuck his tongue out and ran it up again, this time to his chest. Grantaire closed his eyes, opened his lips and groaned gently. When he felt Enjolras play with his nipples, he raised himself by wiping the younger with his crotch. They were both excited. They felt that over the fabric.

Grantaire grabbed Enjolras by the shoulders and forced him to sit down again, wrapped his arms around his shoulders, leaned on his forehead, and stuck to his chest. With gentle, circular movements, he began to lift himself by rubbing their crotches together. At first, in small, deliberate, thoughtful movements - side to side, in circle, up and down - but after a while Grantaire lost his patience and began to rub against Enjolras in quick, strong thrust.

“God,” Enjolras whispered, his lips sucking on Grantaire’s neck, kissing him, biting him, swallowing any sweat droplets that formed on his body.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire whispered softly, tilting his head back so that Enjolras could reach him even better. Enjolras’s fingers moved back to Grantaire’s hips and began to help him in with his thrusts. “This… it's going to be too fast.” He stopped. “Sorry, I'm terrible, I'm terrible for this,  _ in this _ . Having a lot of people in bed doesn’t mean I’m good at it, I’m horrible, please—”

“Enough.” Enjolras put his finger on Grantaire’s lips, forcing him to remain silent. “Same with me. Grantaire, I didn't have anyone for  _ too _ long.” He paused and smiled. “It’s been a long time. It’s past now.”

Grantaire knew what he was referring to. His heart missed a few beats. “Is the past?”

“Forever.” Enjolras didn’t want to wait for Grantaire’s next speech. He wanted him. He felt it. It was so strong that he felt he want to bite his neck and enjoys streaks of blood on his white skin. He quickly put his hands on the button on his trousers, and before Grantaire could wake from his thoughts of what he had just said, he slipped his hand under his boxers.

“Shit.” Grantaire leaned on Enjolras’s shoulder and bit his lip. “God,” he whispered, adding, “ _ Fuck _ .” Enjolras’s long, soft, hot fingers touched him perfectly. They played with his skin a few times, on the tip before they decided to make those long, pleasant movements up and down. “Sorry,” Grantaire said suddenly, closing his eyes tightly. “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he said several times before he began to thrust his hips into his tight grip. He moaned loudly. He didn’t care if anyone heard them. He didn’t want to control himself. He put his hands on Enjolras’s chest and touched his muscles. His eyes examined his skin, the swollen muscle on his hand, for the movements he was doing. Oh,  _ those moves _ . Enjolras knew what he was doing. He touched him gently, yet held him tight enough; sometimes fastened, sometimes slowed. He played with him but didn’t tortured him. He enjoyed every second. “Sorry,” he whispered before he groaned loudly, digging his fingers into Enjolras’s skin and arching his back.

During a long, strong climax, Enjolras kissed him on the forehead all the time, slowing his hand movements until he just held him gently, playing with a swollen vein with his thumb.

When Grantaire woke up from that  _ feeling of happiness _ , he wrapped his arms around Enjolras and kissed his cheek. He pulled back to kiss his lips and forced Enjolras to lie down. Enjolras removed his hand from his trousers and reached for the handkerchiefs that lay on the table. He wiped his hand and looked at Grantaire, who was smiling at him. He returned his smile.

Grantaire shifted his hand to Enjolras’s belt. But Enjolras stopped him, “I see how tired you are. You don’t have to do it.”

“But I want.”

“Me too,” Enjolras said truthfully, groaning softly. “But we still have a lot of time ahead. Rest now.” Grantaire felt how heavy his eyelids were. On the one hand, he felt bad that he couldn’t give Enjolras the satisfaction he had given him; but on the other hand, he knew that even if he tried something, he could still fall asleep during it.

“Sorry,” Grantaire whispered again, but Enjolras just shook his head.

“There is no reason to apologize. I enjoyed it.” He kissed Grantaire on the forehead. “I like you  _ very  _ much,” he whispered again.

Grantaire’s eyes were wet with tears. A dumpling was made in his throat, and despite the dry mouth he swallowed and a few tears ran down his cheeks before he closed his eyes.

_ I can't stand it anymore. _

“I love you.” He couldn’t look at Enjolras’s face. He was looking at his chest.  _ The perfect, golden chest with muscles, a few drops of sweat and red gashes from Grantaire’s nails _ . “I love you,” he repeated louder. Enjolras carefully wiped away all his tears. He hugged him tightly and kissed his hair. Grantaire hugged him around his side and squeezed hard on him. He dug his nose between his chest and sucked in his scent. His  _ natural  _ scent. It was so  _ intoxicating _ . “Please tell me this is not something we forget after this trip. Please. Please.  _ Please…  _ I never asked for anything… Not you… But now…  _ please _ .” Grantaire’s voice faded into the void. He was strangled from tears and weak from fatigue.

“I promise,” Enjolras said, and hugged him harder to prove his words. “I promise, Grantaire.”

But Grantaire was already asleep.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we are at the end of our holiday week! (Which took nearly four months to write. Crazy!). I hope you enjoyed this trip and I’ll see you again on my next fanfictions.

Grantaire was awakened by the loud ringing of Enjorlas’s cell phone. Like other days, he wanted to say irritably  _ please turn it off already _ , but when he opened his eyes he saw Enjolras’ sleeping face, and suddenly he forgot about everything. His head was on his hand, Enjolras’s fingers stuck in his thick, disobedient hair. He was breathing slowly, his lips slightly open, and still red from the night kisses. The blankets covered them from the waist down, but he wasn’t cold - Enjolras was warm, as if he was the sun himself. He could smell his scent,  _ the true scent, _ without soap, without cologne. His hair was disheveled and fell into his forehead and face. He didn’t move. He seemed to hear no sound at all.

Grantaire studied it all. When he noticed the gash on his -  _ perfect, gold, muscled  _ \- chest, he immediately remembered everything. From last night. Their words, touches, kisses, touches, warmth,  _ touches _ .

_ What have we done? _ Grantaire asked himself as he reached for the cell phone and turned off the alarm. He carefully get up, covered Enjolras with blanket again and went to the bathroom. He quickly removed all the clothes that stuck to him and crawled into the shower. He turned on the warm water and leaned on the cool tiles.  _ What have we done? _ Grantaire couldn’t forget a single moment, sound, movement. The way Enjolras looked at him, how he touched him, how he kissed him. Everything was so genuine that if he hadn’t woken up beside his side, he’d have guessed he just dreamed.

He stood under the shower for only a few minutes when the bathroom door opened again. He stood directly under the shower head, looking through the hazy door at the blurry silhouette undressing. He knew who he was. He closed his eyes and tried not to think about anything. His heart pounded as the door to the shower opened. His eyes tightened, his fingers trembling. Enjolras touched his hand with -  _ soft, sweet, white -  _ his. Enjolras wrapped his right arm around his shoulders and pressed him against his still dry chest. He leaned his head against him, they were almost the same height now. “Do you mind?” Enjolras asked him quietly, as if afraid the Grantaire would run away. Hot drops dropped on their heads and their hair wetted and began to entangle. Hearts pounded, although they didn’t touch as much as yesterday. Grantaire turned his head to one side, opened his eyes, and looked at Enjolras, who examined him with an innocent, blue look. With a free hand that Enjolras didn’t hold, he stroked his smooth face and smiled at him. “Of course not,” he said equally softly, leaning toward him to kiss him.

Their kisses were innocent. They kissed gently, without tongues, just rubbing at each other, as if trying to say something that couldn’t be said in words. Grantaire slid his hand to the one that held him around his shoulders and neck, and gently stroked him. Enjolras was more hot than the water that hit them. Enjolras began stroking Grantaire’s body. Not to excite him and give him that beautiful climax; but to be close to him. He touched his skin, addressed his soul, promised him something he had no idea if he could fulfill. And Grantaire didn’t mind.

They stopped kissing when Enjolras reached for the shower gel tube and began to wash Grantaire’s hair. Normally, he would make fun of Enjolras and offend his need  _ to save mortals _ ; but now he decided to remain silent. He closed his eyes so that no foam would accidentally enter them and let his entire body be cared by his experienced fingers. When he was washed, Enjolras kissed him several times on his forehead and then on his mouth. They wiped their naked bodies against each other. They felt each other’s  _ excitement _ . “We should pack things up, we will have to go soon,” Enjolras said before their brains were overwhelmed with ideas unsuitable for the morning.

“Sure,” Grantaire agreed. “I'll go first.” He quickly walked out of the shower and gave Enjolras some privacy. He tried not to look at his naked body, and when he closed the door behind him he cursed himself that there was little dignity left in him and he couldn’t dream of his  _ true  _ figure the following night. What he felt was wonderful. Grantaire shook his head to drive all these thoughts away. He quickly dried himself, walked out of the bathroom, and started packing his things. Though he had barely unpacked, it took him longer than Enjolras. He returned to the room in a few minutes, wearing his favorite black trousers and a light blue button up, with timid hair, smelling like almonds. He packed up in few minutes, had breakfast and even clean up a little bit.

“Want some help?” He asked as he saw Grantaire troubling with the zipper on his trunk.

“That's good, see? I already got it,” he said immediately, adding the zipper by force. He looked around the room, checked if they didn’t forgot something, and looked at Enjolras. He was already waiting in the door with his backpack slung over his back. “Let’s go.”

When they were both out of the room and Grantaire locked the door, Valjean was standing on stairwell. “ _ I thought I heard you. _ ”

“Good morning,” Enjolras said. Valjean just smiled in greeting.

“ _ You’re leaving already? _ ” He asked in surprise.

“ _ Unfortunately, we have to. It will be better that way. _ ”

“ _ Oh, you’re right. I’ll be on my garden all day too. _ ” Valjean went out with them in front of the house and said good-bye to Grantaire.  _ “I will miss you, I hope you will come again soon. Less than three years later. _ ”

_ “I don't promise anything _ ,” he said with a smile.

“It was nice to meet you,” he said as he shook hands with Enjolras.

“ _ You too _ ,” he said in broken French, and Grantaire had to stop thinking about how cute his French sounds.

“That surprised me,” Valjean laughed. “But very nice. I hope to see you again.”

“Well…” Enjolras looked at Grantaire, who avoided his eyes. “Maybe.”

According to Grantaire’s stare, Valjean understood that it would be better not to ask. “Have a good time,” he said, saying goodbye, and hugged Grantaire again.

When Valjean left them and went to his garden, Enjolras asked, “Do we have some time? I need something.”

Grantaire looked at Enjolras in surprise. “Did you forget anything?”

“No, it's personal.”

Grantaire waited if Enjolras going to tell him what he need, but when Enjolras just winked at the sign that he was waiting for answer; he shrugged. “Of course. I’ll wait there.” He pointed to the edge of the park they were looking out of the window every day. He sat on one of the wooden benches, put trunk beside him and watched Enjolras disappear around the corner. “I hope he won’t leave me here.”

_ What do I mean to him? _

“Jesus, enough,” he groaned, putting his head in his hands. He didn’t want to think about it. He had enough. How long has he been interested in Enjolras as someone who was  _ more than a friend to him _ ? It has been too long. Too long to finally fall in love and start living normally. Instead of putting his life together over the years, to found a normal boy who would work differently than robbing women; or a girl who will be the perfect prototype for the future mother; he could not break away from a man who was not interested in him.

_ But he wanted you yesterday. _

But - for how long? Enjolras told him he was  _ there for him _ and  _ if he needed to he’s here _ ; but he told other friends the same. He was glad he finally considered him as a friend. When they said goodbye in from of his house then, he knew that Enjolras had taken him as his friend. They had fun together, they wrote each other some messages, occasionally called, helped in and outside the club. It wasn’t as important and intimate as with the others, but it was happening. And that was the main thing.

_ You're more than a friend to him. _

Grantaire dug his fingers into his hair. Was it true? Was he anything more to him? But what? A friend for  _ fun time _ and not talk about it anymore? Or did he wanted them to be something more? These questions choked him. He wanted to know the answers, but he was afraid of them. He was afraid of rejection. If Enjolras hadn’t touched him in his entire life, he would have dreamed of what it was like, and maybe he could never stop thinking about him, but - he could bear it. But now? Now that he knows how his lips taste? What his eyes full of excitement, desire and expectation looks like? Knowing how soft his fingers are, who only want to please someone?

_ “I like you very much.” _

“Shit,” he moaned silently.

“I’m sorry.” Grantaire opened his eyes, and now he noticed Enjolras standing beside him. “Do you mind?” Grantaire looked over his head, where Enjolras held a bunch of freshly bought lilies of the valley.

“What is it?” He asked in surprise, blinking.

“It's the first of May,” Enjolras said, sitting beside Grantaire, hiding the lily of the valley in his lap. “In that book, I read it was the day when French—”

“—express their love by kissing under blooming lilies of the valley,” Grantaire finished his sentence, and Enjolras just nodded. They stared at each other for a moment, neither of them knew what to say. Enjolras began to think it might not be a good idea; while Grantaire tried to find out whether it was an expression of Enjolras’ feelings for him or just another attempt to please him.

“They are for you,” Enjolras said as the silence seemed too long.

Grantaire took them and began to examine them. He had never attached much to the flowers. In fact, he never really understood what some people found interesting about putting flowers in a vase and watching them die and dry slowly. It seems depressing. “They're beautiful.” They were beautiful. White, tiny, cute. They smelled beautifully of spring and hope. “But what with them? I can't take them to the plane.”

“Oh, I forgot,” Enjolras said truthfully, and they both laughed.

“You little…” Grantaire didn’t finish, turning the flowers of the stems up and putting them over their heads. Without saying anything, Enjolras leaned in and they kissed each other. Once they felt each other’s lips, they forgot about everything. They didn’t mind the bustle of the city, the singing of birds, or how they both wanted to ask each other so many questions they didn’t even have time to ask. “We should go,” Grantaire said as he pulled away from Enjolras. “May 1st is not only love day in France but also a brand of luxury demonstrations and a few police struggles with the public. I’d like to go home today and not sleep in jail.”

“The detention cell,” Enjolras corrected, rising from the bench. “You can go to jail after a proper trial.”

“You never turn off, do you?”

“My own experience.”

“Your own - what?” Grantaire paused in front of the subway entrance. “Really?”

“Of course. Do you really think all our demonstrations and happenings end well?”

“How come I don't know! Such important information?”

“Why is it so important to you? Do you like the idea of being locked up somewhere?”

“I'd rather wonder how you look handcuffed.” Only when he said it did he realize how it sounded. Biting his lip, he quickly descended the stairs to the subway so that Enjolras couldn’t notice his red face. But he wasn’t the only one.

The road was strangely silent. The subway was full, so they had to stand all the way and stick to one pole. Sometimes their fingers touched as they tried to prevent them from falling. They sat side by side on the bus, their thighs rubbing together, as did their knees. Sometimes they looked at each other, but as soon as their eyes met, they turned their head back to the window and looked out. They wanted to hold hands, but they were too nervous to do so. It was strange. After last night and the morning when they cuddled, after kissing on the bench ... suddenly they were hit by shame. From what? Out of the confusion of who they are for the other now? Should they talk about it? Forget? Be silent? Start being more than friends?

Before they could fully dive into their thoughts, the bus stopped in front of the airport. They both got out, checked in, checked their tickets, bought a drink, and waited for them to board the plane. “Grantaire,” Enjolras finally began after sitting alone on the benches and the passengers strolling or chatting far enough away from them not to disturb them. “I can’t be silent,” he began, looking somewhere indefinitely. He had no trouble speaking, but he knew that the moment he would look into Grantaire’s eyes, he would forget everything he wanted to say. “What happened between us… meant a lot to me. Like I told you yesterday - I like you  _ very  _ much. But I don’t want you to promise that I’ll be able—”

“—Don’t talk about it.” Enjolras looked at Grantaire, who, like him, watched the passengers in front of them. He held a cup of water in his hand, which he scratched and slowly disintegrated in his hand. “I don’t want you to promise me anything. I don’t want to expect anything from it. But believe me…  _ damn _ , it was the best night of the past years.” They both laughed and Grantaire looked at Enjolras. He bit his lip. “I don’t like the feelings for not knowing what I mean to you. But to know it will never happen again—”

“—Why you think it will never happen again?”

Both frowned at each other.

Grantaire blinked in confusion. “You were trying to tell me, didn’t you? That we can do it again?”

“I was trying to tell you that I don’t know if I can ever feel the same love you feel for me.” Grantaire’s eyes widened. “You said that... You said you love me.”

“You heard me?” Grantaire asked, his ears slightly flushed.

“Of course I heard you. I always listen to you,” Enjolras said, raising his voice a little. He wanted him to know that everything he said now meant from his heart. He didn’t want to look ashamed of his words. “What you feel about me is beautiful, real and innocent. Maybe I once thought it was…  _ a little too much _ , and I was afraid to accept that someone might love me as I once... When I love Oliver.” He noticed Grantaire grimacing for a moment. But he quickly covered it by taking a sip. “But in fact, I was only afraid of my own feelings. Grantaire, although I had partners then, there was not real relationships. I didn’t love them. I think they didn’t love me either. But I felt  _ nice _ with them. And the same thing I felt for a long time for you. I liked you. But now? It’s something more. But I don’t want to call it love yet.”

Grantaire had the feeling that his heart might have denied his service. “Oh my god, Enjolras, you’re such a dumbass,” he whispered.

“Wha—” Before Enjolras could say anything, he felt Grantaire kissing him. He kissed him a couple of times, and then, when he was sure that Enjolras was not going to say anything, he pulled away from him and added, “Yesterday… I said I love you. And it is true. And if it scares you, I’m sorry. I apologize for telling you without preparation. But—”

“Please don’t apologize, you have no reason.” Enjolras stroked Grantaire’s hair. “I want our relationship to be affected by the night, but I don’t want to promise you more than I can for now. I don’t want to disappoint you. I don't want to hurt you,” Enjolras whispered the last sentence. Grantaire felt as if he stroked his entire body with his words. He was shaking with excitement. He leaned over to Enjolras and kissed him again. As he pulled away from him, he put his head on his shoulder and let Enjolras hug him.

They stayed in their arms and in silence until they heard from the speakers that they could board the plane. They rose from their seats. “Thank you,” Grantaire said as Enjolras offered to throw the cups of unfinished coffee into the trash. Grantaire picked up his cell phone and quickly checked to see if anyone had written him something. Because of Enjolras, he completely forgot his love for this little box.

Returning to Grantaire, Enjolras noticed how pale his face was. “Grantaire?” He walked over to him and put a hand on his forehead. “You’re all pale, are you all right?” He noticed he was watching the phone'’ display. Taking his cell phone from his hand, he started to read the messages he had open on his desktop.

**[Flowerparnasse:** _ Grantaire? Aren't you answering on purpose or are you just such an asshole? _ **]**

**[Flowerparnasse:** _ I never thought you’d be like that. _ **]**

**[Floweparnasse:** _I couldn't concentrate on anything today. You'll be pleased to heard that they fired me up from work. Again._ **]**

 **[Flowerparnasse:** _I had a fight with Louis. Because of you. He said that I can’t forget you. And I’m still talking about you. Okay. So thank you that even after half a year fucking my life._ **]**

**[Flowerparnasse** :  _ It's three in the morning and I've been watching your photos for about five hours. That isn’t normal. I'm not normal. You're not normal. Nobody is normal. God, I hate you! _ **]**

**[Flowerparnasse** : _ It’s possible that Louis was right and I never forgot you? If I knew what it was going to be with you, I would never mess with you. You shit. _ **]**

**[Flowerparnasse:** _ I'm sorry about the "shit". You didn't deserve that. Sorry. _ **]**

**[Flowerparnasse:** _Actually, you didn’t deserve those other things either. Sorry._ **]**

 **[Flowerparnasse:** _God, sorry, sorry, sorry._ **]**

**[Flowerparnasse:** _ Sorry _ . **]**

**[Floweparnasse:** _I've already drank three bottles of wine. In two days. This was the level I met you at. How did you manage it? Drink and still be so awesome._ **]**

**[Flowerparnasse:** _ God, did I really write that you were awesome? I must have been pretty drunk. Ignore any of those messages. Ignore them. _ **]**

**[Floweparnasse:** _Or not. Write me. How are you in Paris? How do you enjoy fucking with that fucking bastard? I bet you think of me during that. However, we were joking that he didn't even know what he can do with “that” thing._ **]**

 **[Flowerparnasse:** _Do you remember that trip to the Zoo? How did we meet Éponine and Gavroche there? And he was trying to steal the serval? It’s been a long time. But it's a nice memory._ **]**

 **[Flowerparnase:** _Or that day I was sitting at your house looking at you painting. You painted Paris. And you were looking forward to being there. To show me everything. That you prepared a lot for me. Doesn’t matter now I guest._ **]**

 **[Flowerparnasse:** _How is it possible that I now remembered how you love strawberries? And how do you tasted like them when you kissed me? Do you still eat them? Do you still like them?_ **]**

 **[Flowerpanasse:** _Shit, I can’t forget what we were doing together. I can’t stop thinking you might be doing it with him now. God damn it, I guess I'm going crazy. I have to drink again. I got it…_ **]**

 **[Floweparnasse:** _Grantaire._ **]**

**[Floweparnasse:** _ I miss you. _ **]**

**[Flowerparnasse:** _ Can we meet? When you come back? _ **]**

**[Floweparnasse:** _When are you coming back?_ **]**

 **[Flowerparnasse:** _I found it. I still have our flights written in my diary. But I couldn’t find the ticket. Did you have them? I'm such an asshole._ **]**

**[Flowerparnasse:** _ I want to see you. _ **]**

**[Flowerparnasse** :  _ I have to see you _ . **]**

**[Flowerparnasse:** _I’m at the airport. I don’t understand what I’m doing, but I know I have to do it. If you’d forgotten how I look, still the same. I’m wearing the blue shirt you loved so much. It still has paint stain on sleeve from the way you jumped on me when you painted. God… I really miss you._ **]**

 **[Flowerparnasse:** _I'll be waiting for you._ **]**

All messages were sent yesterday evening and this morning.

“Don’t care about it,” Enjolras said as soon as he turned off the phone. His hands were shaking. He never reduced himself to physical violence. He hated it. But now? He wanted to beat Montparnasse. To see his furious smirk wipe out thank to his fists. Hear him break his nose, just as he had done to Grantaire a year ago, trying to tell them that the drunk had fallen to the ground after he stumbled on the dining table.

“He’s at the airport,” Grantaire said quietly. “He’s at the airport.”

“Don’t care about it.” Enjlolras put Grantaire’s cell phone in his pocket and leaned over. He kissed him.

Grantaire didn’t give him a kiss. “He’s at the airport.”

“Don’t care about it.” Enjolras repeated, leaning on Grantaire’s forehead. “Please.”

“He’s waiting for me.” He looked at Enjolras. He was downcast, his eyes sad, without shine. He had never really seen him like this. “Sorry.”

“We’ll make it.”

“I’m so sorry, Enjolras—”

“We’ll make it,” Enjolras said again with a louder voice. He kissed his forehead. He pulled away from him and took his hand. He intertwined his fingers and gripped him tightly. “Come on, we have to go.”

They held hands firmly for the entire flight. Both were silent.

They knew that whatever happened, Paris was in their hearts.

Forever.

**Author's Note:**

> Do you know when I got the idea for this story? When I was paying tickets to Paris, I gave my boyfriend as one of birthday presents for him. So I hope that, until we leave, I will not solve the same dilemma as Grantaire. (Though to be able to fly away with Enjolras, hmm...)
> 
> Find me on tumblr [2WNikiAngel](http://www.2wnikiangel.tumblr.com).


End file.
